the end is nigh

Baseball is well nigh at a close. Alouicious has plugged along all this season, keeping track of his glove and bat and cleats and hat and uniform, playing catch when there's time, throwing the ball into the tire placed carefully against our gorgeous fence (see posts from last summer) when there's less time, whistling his way through practices and games. The rest of us have been trying to live sanely around him. Elphine and I, waiting out practices, have bought groceries in myriad locations we never expected to know about in the long distant baseball-less past. Matt has been to, what seems like to me, a thousand games, standing, shoulders squared, on the top level of those dilapidated and ubiquitous risers available at every baseball field across America. He mutters under his breath and shouts desperately at his child to RUN and HIT and mostly PAY ATTENTION. I, even I, have stood, white knuckled at the fence, shouting hysterically at children to whom I have never been formally introduced to RUN RUN RUN COME ON RUN RUN RUN!!!  

Yesterday, after rushing away from the Church Picnic (sob), it occurred to me that baseball is alright. It is orderly and cheerful. The angles are well arranged. The lawn is always perfectly green. The little boys (honestly, they look so like babies but also on the cusp of being men) look so right in their bright clean white and wine colored uniforms. The catcher for our team, who I do happen to know, squats keen eyed and ready, but when the moment arises flings aside his massive helmet and cap, scoops up the ball and goes fiercely at the poor child coming desperately towards home. Then, generally satisfied, he reassembles himself with the help of the umpire. It all happens in a languid, fascinating, nail biting rhythm. 

And so, here we are, one single game away from it all being over. We have gone all the way. Had it not been for the rain today, we, I guess I should say 'they' since I am not technically playing, would have played the only other team that has gone all the way. Tomorrow? Or Wednesday? Who can know when the rain will stop and the teams will be assembled. 

all hallow's eve

Everyone, finally including me, has got some sort of early autumn cold.

Fortunately the sore throat and misty perception of reality did not cause anyone to be slowed or miss out on any candy gathering. Although Gladys finally had to be put into her tights and leggings and two shirts and sweater and tutu and wings and hat and red boots by the whole family who were all ready to go and were exasperated and exhausted by her stream of commentary as she spent fifteen minutes putting one foot into her tights only to take it out again in order to adjust the seam that lies along the stupid stupid toes.

Romulus was dressed and ready to go at 9 in the morning but did finally agree to take off the hat to eat breakfast (What? A late breakfast and a late lunch meant no need for dinner. I planned it that way.) and to put his shield in a safe place. He's so uncomplicated. He just wore his costume and gathered candy and smiled beatifically. I feel for families of all boys, never knowing the joy of tights, or having the right top still in the washer at the critical moment and having to weep even more because the pony tail won't curl exactly right, or the shoe got scuffed, or the hands are too cold, or no one will stop and wait.

Finally we were all out the door and ready for all the wide wide world had to offer. You can see that we have Captain America, A Knight, Cleopatra, a Generic Yellow Puffed Dress, and then the Baby Bee is out of the shot. I'm in the Wolf Hat. I must be trying to adjust someone.  I love the way Alouicious stood and surveyed the scene, summing up in his own mind the nature of the occasion.

And then as usual I ruined the moment by trying to have a picture. But everyone got over it and consoled themselves with Candy, Donuts, Hot Chocolate and Games at church for two hours before stuffing themselves into the car and hoping the engine didn't peter out in the mile to our old house.

And now here I am, listening to the gentle sound of children eating candy when they've been expressly told not to and wondering if, perhaps hoping that, they won't need breakfast. What breakfast food could possibly compete with straight chocolate, or chocolate with peanut, or chocolate coating a crispy biscuit, or chocolate and caramel.

lilies of the field

I'm in the middle of the Great Autumn Clothes Change Over of 2012. Its not that cold out but our school room has an arctic air permeating it every morning now and there's been whining about the lack of sweaters and long trousers. So, of course, when Elphine came in just now wearing what appears to be a mini-skirt, I was able to react on the grounds that her knees would be cold and not to the fact that she looked like...well, there's no good way to end that sentence.

She and her brother are locked in an ongoing angry competition of who can get their school work done first every day, goaded along by their insolent siblings who say things like, "Well, you have to make your bed first," in a seriously nasty tone. Elphine is guaranteed a win today because Alouicious goes to Man's Bible Study (that's what he calls it) on Fridays, kindle and money for soda in hand. He gets up, has his cup of coffee, pretends to read the passage, forgets to get dressed until its almost too late, and then flings everyone into a three minute panic while he tries to catch up and leave for church at the same time as his father. He comes home two hours later smug and stuffed with bacon and tater-tots to finish the whole experience off with whatever we're having for breakfast, usually bread and jam.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, Clothes Change Over of 2012 (cue war music). Even though I got rid of 7 bags of clothes in the Great Spring Clothes Change Over of 2012 it seems that I am wrestling with Leviathan down there. Marigold, for example, is emotionally attached to all the clothes she wore last year but which, tragically, do not fit her at all. "That's my shirt" shrieks the girl who six months ago wouldn't say anything as I dress Fatty Lumpkin. "I want my shirt!"

And Gladys knelt worshipfully next to her drawer nearly all afternoon, waiting to see what I would put in it. Unhappily for her, Elphine went to kindergarten when she was five and had to wear a 'uniform' of khakis and different colored polo shirts, plus one pair of jeans for play. She picked the jeans out of her drawer gingerly, with real tears in her eyes and said, "I don't think these fit me."
"Sure they do," I said blithely, missing the point, "they're exactly right."
"No," she wept, "they don't fit at all, and they're very very ugly" and sobbed louder, flinging them in the pile of stuff to never be seen again. She resumed her kneeling posture ever more vigilant. I had to wait nearly a whole hour for her to be called away to put the khakis in. Pretty sure I'll find them flung all over the floor when I go down there this morning.

Even Romulus and Alouicious got in tussles with me about letting go of things that are really really really small. Romulus has two kinds of shirts in his drawer as a result, things to wear at home because they're full of holes and come up to the middle of his arm, and things to wear out because they won't let all the cold air in. "I just really need the shirt with the frog on it" he let me know after checking things over.

And then, to top things off, Matt stuck his stupid oar in. "Just throw away all the baby boy stuff" he postulated callously. I threw a book at him and gave it all up for the day. Stupid children, growing up, stupid husband, suggesting we ever get rid of the tiny baby sweater with the little cowboy and the horse and the little button shirt that goes under it, and the little tiny tie shoes. I'm going to give up my stupid diet and eat a piece of actual bread with actual jam.

the season

Sitting here with a profound cold in the head trying to watch the Democratic Convention. And again I ask, Why does it all have to be So Late? Elphine has made brownies at this advanced hour to avert the coming apocalypse ("If I don't make brownies today, I'll DIE.")

Ooop, not the convention, football. And so begins a long season of depression as the Cowboys lose a bunch. But we're rooting for 'em anyway.

Much woe on the part of the boys, though, that they're not allowed to favor the Giants when the Cowboys are playing. "I hope they both win" says Elphine, ever the moderate. All she needs is a little bit of plastic surgery and a whole lot of lipstick and the gleam in her eye will take her all the way to the top.

She is developing a gratifying combination of deadpan commentary and timing. Yesterday, as I was struggling along not speaking Mandarin she turned up her nose and at every prompt, responded in English instead of Mandarin.
Pimsleur: Say, I speak a little English.
Elphine: I speak a little English.
Everyone giggles.
Pimsleur: Excuse me, can I ask, do you speak English?
Elphine: Excuse me, can I ask? Do you speak English?
Me: Say it in Mandarin!
Amazingly, though, she stopped when it was no longer funny. What a gift!

Anyway, what was I blogging about? The Convention? Can't remember. Going to bed. Tomorrow I'll discover that the Cowboys really did lose and the Democrats really really really really really really love women.

a little gardening

Last Monday we forced the children to help in the community garden. They worked hard for five minutes and then the boys started whining. "Its too hot. I'm too tired." Told them to "man up" or they would be in for a "world of hurt". There's nothing like a cliche here and there to carry forward a morning of great parenting and helpful gardening.

Gladys and Marigold got to help plant tomato plants. Marigold just helped herself to the plants without being asked. That's just the way she rolls.

Here is my own plot! Look! Its not dead! Amazing!

 These are alive carrot plants. Don't say what you're really thinking. Say something nice instead.

 A lettuce and a half.

 Cucumbers

 Someone planted lovely flowers to dress up the whole garden.

 More children working hard, or something.

 And when we were all through, Marigold put a tea cozy on her head.

the end of the season

We all watched the Superbowl together. After making it through an entire season of football I felt it would be bad form to miss this game and SO didn't go to sleep in the middle of the first quarter and wake up in the middle of the fourth, (which is how I've managed to "see" an entire season of football).

Anyway, we ate guacamole and chips, pizza, which Gladys helped make, tater-tots and mayonnaise (not me, I didn't eat the tater-tots), and pork.

Alouicious and I rooted for the Giants against Matt who broke his picking rules (Dallas first, south over north, west over east) because he just hates the Giants (I Know! He's lived here for ten years!).

The children all hung on to the bitter end to see the conference of the trophy, which was so so so gross from all the kissing, bleh. It was hard to tell when the trophy had actually been given but eventually we managed to convince them it had and they had to go to bed.

Alouicious' joy at having his pick win was bested only by the fact that Matt's had lost. He mentioned it several times last night and then came down here at 6:50 this morning to tell us again.

I must say, after getting over my rage that PBS would schedule TWO Downton Abbey episodes during the game (I'm sure as some kind of smack against middle America, I mean Why Else!) I was overcome with sadness that the whole season is over. I'd kind of gotten use to all the grossly overweight men in tight clothes crashing into each other, the blond in the bodysuit singing about how great football is, the bizarre fact that there are basically two separate teams--offense and defense--and so everybody only plays half the time!?!, the myriad interesting names that all the players and coaches have, and especially the strangely dressed commentators. Why, I wonder week after week, do the two men reporting the game have to stand So close together?

In conversation with children

Romulus gagging and trying to get through his dinner.
You know this black stuff on top of the potato? Well, that stuff makes some people throw up.
(Nobody is allowed to say they don't like something at dinner, and nobody is allowed to throw up.)

Romulus putting a little world on the Jesse Tree.
God created the world?! Seriously?!
(Like we haven't mentioned this over and over in the last four months! What!)

Alouicious flirting with logic.
You know why I believe Santa is real? Because people don't go outside at night and so it must be Santa that brings presents all at once. He's the only one that's out late.
(He's right. We Don't Ever go outside after dark. Congratulated him on his astute reasoning.)

whistling

Alouicious has learned to whistle.

Its really the most irritating skill I can think of, in all places, in all times. He whistles to everyhing and at every moment. Just now he is whistling along to Handel's Greatest Hits (there's no way anyone can ever accuse me of being a snob for any reason after such a revelation). Later he will whistle himself to bed and whistle himself to sleep. He whistles, aggravatingly, while he works. He whistles in between whining about having to work. He whistles while he reads. Really, there isn't one single solitary thing I can think of that he does without whistling. I could hear him faintly whistling from the altar as he acolyted yesterday.

I have always tried, in my soul, to be a good mother and not nag, but every other word I breath now is, "don't whistle in my ear," "please stop whistling," "don't whistle at the table," "don't whistle right now," "don't whistle right here."
"Why do you yell at me all the time now?" he asked last week.
"I'm sorry," I said, "its just you're always whistling in my ear. Its driving me crazy."

I know I should be praying for my children to be saved and learn lots of stuff and other kinds of things, but really all I pray every day now is, "Lord Jesus have mercy on me a sinner and please let no other child in this house learn to whistle."

Another Birthday

Romulus turns five today.
I've got to roust myself and go make him 'hot cereal' (Cream of Wheat lathered in cream) for breakfast and then try to pretend to clean the house and make a cake--all white, including frosting.
"What kind of cake do you want?" I asked him yesterday.
"White" he said, vaguely annoyed that I would ask such a stupid question.
"What color frosting do you want?"
"White" (stupid mommy).
He wanted, of course, to receive a Remote Control Voltron and the Five Lions that gave birth to Voltron, but it turns out that Voltron has become an expensive antique, and the Five Lions are as unto gold. Wish I'd acquired some of these precious goods as a child to pad my retirement. Anyway, he's not receiving any Voltron object, poor child, but rather a lot of very reasonably priced and fun toys.
And we fed him sausages last night. So he is very content and happy.
Nobody else is, naturally, it not being their birthday. I, in my usual disorganized way, am half ready for school, half packed, half done getting people to do stuff at church, and feeling half out of my mind that I only have a week to get everything sorted out before we go. I spent half the night awake, a la Simcha Fischer, worrying about the fact that I won't be traveling with a beautiful purse.
Have a lovely day! We'll be partying our hearts out.

Give us this day our daily ham

Romulus hates having to eat anything that isn't made out of sausage, ramen noodles or rice. As you can imagine, he is unhappy a lot of the time because we don't eat sausage that often, although we tell him that almost everything is made out of it, nor ramen noodles, nor rice. We eat a nice array of healthy and unhealthy foods, sometimes including ramen, sometimes including sausage, but not Every Time.

Two days ago I caught Alouicious trying to shove a piece of lemon tart in Romulus' mouth while shouting, "Its made of sausage! Its made of sausage!"

But today, after watching every body eat delicious ham, cheese and lettuce sandwiches, face still covered with the chocolate from his own, he decided to make a bold move and try one himself.

"Mmm" he said, "this is as good as sausage."

More Monday Rain

Of what shall I blog? It being almost 10 in the morning and rain clouds rolling slowly in to cover the already gray sky with storm and tempest. Matt is reading through all the endless websites about CJ Mahaney (!!! so weird) to the gentle background noise of children squabbling and biting each other. Well maybe only one of them is biting. I'm trying to decide whether to get up and do something useful, or just ignore reality and do nothing at all.

And there is the rain.

So I guess we won't be toddling into the garden for a nice gentle sit and a read. Blast it all. Did really hope to completely avoid the pile of laundry on the dining room table, and the pile of laundry in the laundry room, and the pile of paper in the office, and the pile of books in the school room, and the pile of garbage in the garage....

Seems I'm developing a writing tick....

Oh! That's what I wanted to remember! Alouicious, during church yesterday, looked fairly concentrated and pious, though wiggly, until he leaned over and first asked, in a loud and gaspy whisper, "Did you like having only one child? When it was just Elphine, did you like that better?" and then a few minutes later, "Why isn't our church on TV?" and then a few moments later, "What day are you going to put batteries in my remote control dinosaur?" and then, "Is a panther bigger than a wild cat?" and so on and so forth.

Each time I desperately grabbed his cheek and whispered, "Please save all these questions for later, please don't shout out loud."

Wow,  its really pouring rain. I know! I'll just sit here at watch it.

A Foretaste of our Busy Weekend

In the present instance, going back to the liver-pill circular, I had the symptoms, beyond all mistake, the chief among them being 'a general disinclination to work of any kind'. What I suffer in that way no tongue can tell. From my earliest infancy I have been a martyr to it. As a boy, the disease hardly ever left me for a day. They did not know, then, that it was my liver. Medical science was in a far less advanced state than now, and they used to put it down to laziness.
'Why, you skulking little devil, you,' they would say, 'get up and do something for your living, can't you?--not knowing, of course, that I was ill.
And they didn't give me pills; they gave me clumps on the side of the head. And, strange as it may appear, those clumps on the head often cured me--for the time being. I have known one clump on the head have more effect upon my liver, and make me feel more anxious to go straight away then and there, and do what was wanted to be one, without further loss of time, than a whole box of pills does now. You know, it often is so--those simple, old-fashioned remedies are sometimes more efficacious than all the dispensary stuff.

Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat

Episcopal Oversight

We're halfway through our time with the bishop.
("Is the good bishop or that bad bishop coming to visit?" Alouicious asked on Thursday as we were cleaning.
"The good bishop," I said.
"Oh" he said disappointedly. Think he probably wanted to practice awesome "kung-fu" moves on a bad guy and so I pulled him back to remind him to pray for the bad bishop which disappointed him even more. Romulus then wandered in to inquire why we were cleaning.
"Because!" said Matt, "we enjoy a clean house, Cleaning is a regular integrated part of our lives." Nobody believed him.)
Today will be various workshops and training. Tomorrow will be baptism, confirmation, chrismation (I don't even know how to spell this or anything--someone, enlighten me, what will he be doing?), and, said the bishop, "raising of the dead". I look forward to it immensely.

When a baby cries

I've been noticing lately an interesting difference between my little boys and my little girls. Its a difference that any sensible person might observe and there have even been studies done on it.

My little girls cannot bear to hear the baby cry. Whey she cries, Elphine goes immediately to pick her up. Gladys goes automatically to jam a plug (pacifier, we call them plugs because that's what they are, really, let's not beat euphemistically about the bush) in her squalling mouth. They both firmly say things like 'stop crying'.

The boys on the other hand take quite a long time to notice that she is crying, and when they finally do, they will come and say aggrievedly, 'the baby is crying. Can't you make her stop?'

I only remarked this difference a few weeks ago and thought I was jumping to preconceived conclusions. I mean, really, how could you not notice something as relentless and angry as a tiny hungry baby? So I began to purposefully watch. The difference is so remarkable as to be funny.

Knights at Table

I hope all those of you who are always complaining about the lack of pictures have taken note of the last few days. You know who you are.

Today's picture is classically representative of the way life is lived at our house. My boys are basically Always in Knight Costume. Every now and then they take a break to be spider man, but most all the time its knights--knights for breakfast, lunch, supper, school and play. Generally Alouicious stands on a chair during school hours, waving an imaginary sword and basically doing whatever he's told. He takes breaks to sit down and draw or write.

The girls are not so fanatical. They take breaks to dress up but generally wear whatever they've picked out for the whole course of the day. Its one reason I'm really enjoying homeschooling. If Elphine wants to wear her favorite sun dress for the day, even though its frigid outside, she can. If it helps her think then I'm delighted.

On a completely different note, for those of you who wonder at my deep abiding hatred for oatmeal, I would draw your attention to this excellent description of an average morning at my boarding school.

Smatterings

Much like going on holiday or other life changing events, having a baby really throws a spanner in my blogging and prayer life. Its not that everything suddenly falls out of control, but any break in routine causes these two parts of my life to fly out the window. In this case, waking up twice at night to feed the baby has meant that I am not leaping up with the dawn to pray and blog. Rather, I am buried under a pile of blankets and children running through the day to come in my head. And somehow, if I don't get to it right off, I never return to it during the day. Except right now.

But lots of other things have been happening. Here are some of them.

Going to the Dentist
I haven't been the dentist in a while.
As a child, whenever we were near a dentist, as far as I could tell, I had to spend a lot of time being shouted at in French while what seemed like All of my teeth were filled.
"Ouvre la bouche!!!" the dentist would shout (that means OPEN YOUR MOUTH)
Actually this only happened for one week in Belgium when I was six. But every dentist after was really just an extension of that first dentist.

And then there's the fact that I have a Huge gag reflex. I remember as yesterday throwing up on a dentist in Oregon--a foolish man who, when informed by me that he was about to be thrown upon, said 'no you won't' only to find that in fact I could and did.

So this time, having been drug by Matt (ON MY Day Off no less) to a bright cheerful sparkling clean Teeth Factory, I apologized loudly and right away for gagging. 'I'm so sorry' I said over and over as the poor hygienist tried to get an X Ray and I gagged again and again. Finally she gave up and took me into a fancy room with a machine that took pictures from the outside. 'I'm so sorry' I said as she led me back to the waiting room.

Needless to say, I'll be going back to the dentist fairly often for the next little while. Each time I will think of Mrs. Miniver lying back in that perfectly comfortable chair, designed to extract the worst kind of torture, so comfortable that nothing will distract you from what's going on in your mouth. Next time I go, I'll have found the book and I'll be able to tell you all about it.
In the meantime, I leave you with this.

Classical Conversations
We finished our first 12 weeks!! I'm really enjoying my class this year. I might not have mentioned it before but I'm the tutor for the 4s and 5s or Abecedarians as they are called in CC. I have a class of five boys and one girl. One of the boys is mine and he's made real progress this year, especially from last year.

You'd probably think, as I initially did, that spending a morning once a week with 6 little kids trying to do a science experiment, play the tin whistle, learn Latin Noun Declensions one by one and hear a presentation from each child on the topic of the day would be a completely ghastly experience. But you'd be So Wrong. Aside from Sunday, Wednesday mornings are my favorite. I particularly enjoyed this week's presentation time. The topic was of their own choosing and after hearing 3 little boys talk about movie characters they love, the one girl got up with a doll dressed as a flower. The boys could not understand the meaning of this doll.
'How did she get to be dressed as a flower?' one of them asked.
'Well, what movie is she in?' asked another.
No answers were forthcoming to these questions. I mean, really, why wouldn't she be dressed as a flower is a better question.

Nursing the Baby
As expected, its going much better. As I said before, this baby is my best eater. She gained a pound in two weeks (AMAZING) and looks, let's be perfectly honest, pudgy. And, now that we're heading into week four, its not Nearly so painful.

Conversations
Alouicious came and shouted to me this morning, as I was trying to brush my teeth, 'Are there any tiny riding men?' or it may have been 'writing men'. Either way the question was incomprehensible to me.
'What?' I said.
'Are there any tiny riding men?'
'I don't know' I said helplessly. 'I have No Idea.'

Visits
We were charmed and delighted to have some family visit last week from far away places like Oregon and New Jersey. It made me quite homesick for an Oregon winter and for all the lovely and sensible people who live out there.

The Christmas Pageant
I'm immersed in it. I've been tweaking and tweaking the script and music and cast list. Its going to be the Best Ever. I hope everyone will come see it.

An ordered and Peaceful Life
It feels to me, in a vague and undefinable way, that we are shedding the stress and crises of the last 8 years. I had feared that having lived for so long, our whole marriage in fact, in a church in turmoil that we wouldn't know how to live without it when it came time.

Such appears not to be the case. A growing and vibrant church, while fraught on many days, and certainly full of the many small dramas that make life interesting, is not necessarily crisis driven. The growth, order and generalized peace of the church is very much present in our home. Even as we head into a stressful time of year we are by no means over stretched and running in too many directions.

Boys

Alouicious' stitches come out tomorrow, about the same time that I'm supposed to be having an ultrasound. He's barely noticed them all week, except that there's a little bit of string or thread sticking out that he can see if he looks down cross-eyed. Every now and then he's banged his nose while crashing around the house (it doesn't matter how many times I say 'Please slow down! Please be careful of your nose!) and been very unhappy about it. I don't know how to stop them from their evening lap--running crazily around and around the living/dining/kitchen over and over and shouting while supper is being made. Last night I tried closing doors and putting up gates but that caused a large amount of banging on the door and shouting.

I'm not complaining. It just takes psychological work to have boys (and a baby toddler girl who's as hyped up as a boy). My natural instinct is to always to achieve quiet. 'Please be quiet', 'please lower your voice', 'please stop hewing and smiting'--these words are always on my lips and in my heart.

The trouble is that I don't really know where they're coming from. 'Imagine that our family was a fire dragon' Alouicious just whispered into my ear.
'Ok,' I said, 'but I'm not really awake yet, and I don't know really know what a fire dragon is.'
He seemed disappointed, like surely his own mother should know what a fire dragon is. I've never, in a thousand days, even considered the existence of a fire dragon. In my haze filled memory I think I pretended a lot that my parents had had more children and I had siblings. And sometimes I would stand in the yard, looking up at the sky and pretend that visitors were coming that day and we needed to bake a cake. Surely I imagined other things, but I can't remember any of them.

The imagining of my boys is so beyond a cake for visitors.
'Are you the princess?' Romulus will ask his sister. 'I have a sword. I will save you.'
'I guess I can be a princess,' Elphine will concede, 'Don't step on my dress.'
Then he will run around wildly shouting 'Princess! Come here princess. I am saving you,' cape flapping behind him.
'Please lower your voice,' I whisper to myself. But less and less out loud. Maybe some day he'll really save something, and it would be terrible if he did it so quietly that I missed it.

A Little Excitement

I have admonished my two oldest to sleep as late as they possibly can given how late we all were getting to bed. In other words I only have two little ones squirming around and preparing to jump on the bed.

Yesterday was another milestone in the unfolding life of being parents. We DID finish all our work by 1pm, leaving hours, it seemed, for a nap. And then friends came over to sing a different version of the Classical Conversations History Sentence Week 5 because none of us liked the tune provided. And then, while all the children (am I right in counting up a total of 7?) played knights and princess, Alouicious, armor and all, stumbled in the course of battle and sustained an injury that quickly became clear would require our first family trip to the emergency room. Actually, just Matt went, child in arms, calling out to his Bible Study to 'Keep Studying' and 'would someone please lock the church when you all leave?' because the Shepherd's Bowl was winding down.

The two of them arrived home three hours later, Alouicious still in armor looking pale, noble and brave. Apparently he Didn't Cry At All and held perfectly still, while some other grown person was having their leg set next door with loud cries and moans. He was given no less than 22 stickers by various nurses coming through every few minutes to check on him. And his mouth was blue from a Popsicle ('with a stick!' he informed me later).

Many of you who know Alouicious personally will be deeply impressed at his bravery because he's generally pretty quick to shout and cry over relatively small incidents. I was amazed by how circumspect he was--describing the nurses and the fact that there was a 'bed but no blankets' and that the stitches would need to come out in one week.

Elphine bubbling over with a cold and worry over her brother burst back into tears when it was finally time to go up to bed. She and Romulus and Gladys and the visiting friends had all wept properly when Alouicious was carried off. I so wish I had had a camera to capture the striking array of armor and princess dresses.

So today we will sit about very quietly and try to not bump into each other and do what little study we can without becoming too tired.

But I don't want to be too tired

I shouldn't really be blogging. Matt's wonderful and devoted parents arrive the day after tomorrow, so I should be cleaning, and there's a deal on turkey at Wegmans, so I should be in the shower and shoving us all in the car to go over there and avail myself, and its Friday so we should be doing school, and its nearly the weekend so I should be doing the bulletin....So blogging is the obvious choice.

We're trying to wean Romulus (see some previous post or other) off the bottle. Its ridiculous that our two year old and one year old are both wandering around with bottles hanging out of their mouths. Two days ago the two year old announced that he was 'Not A BABY!' so I replaced his bottle with a sippy cup and have been regretting it ever since. This morning he pried the pillow off my head and waved a bottle in my face, nodding his head and winking roguishly.

'No' I said.
'BOTTTTLLLLEEEEE' he yelled.
'No,' I said, 'you can have milk in a sippy cup. You're a big boy'
'I not big boy, I not baby. No siccup. BOTTTLLLEEEEEE!'
'No,' I said.
This his brother, whom from henceforth I will call Alouiscious ('But I don't want to be called Alouiscious,' he said, crying. 'You'll be fine,' I said, 'you'll enjoy it') began to weep because his father left for Bible Study this morning without saying good bye to him.
'Will I ever say bye?'
'You say bye all the time.'
'Yes, but will I eeevvvveeeeer say bye?'

So I went to the doctor yesterday complaining of extreme fatigue.
He fairly laughed at me.
'Pray more' he said, 'and God will give you humility.'

Wednesday in Review

I'm sitting here in a veritable stupor. Even though everyone slept until 7:30 (are you paying attention? 7:30!!!! Not 5, not 4, not 6:45, 7:30), having to actually get out bed and stumble down to the kitchen to make my own tea facing down hoards of miniature shouting angry people (by that I mean my own children) is still daunting.

I deeply appreciate all the prayers for Matt's safe traveling. However, I neglected to ask for prayer that Matt would take the right set of keys with him.

Yesterday morning, having woken up at 5 and spent what seemed days preparing and organizing for our morning with Classical Conversations, I experienced sheer terror at precisely 7:50 when I took the keys off the hook and found them to be the wrong keys. I called Matt in hysteria and then remembered that, by the grace of God, one of the families in CC lives four blocks from us. I called in her in a fit of apologetic embarrassment and she very graciously agreed to come get us on her way.

So the morning progressed without other incident. Except that my own son could not see his way to sitting in his chair even for the slightest amount of time and eventually, by the end of the morning, was standing up in it shouting and weeping about the melting of the snow. Then he shouted and wept when I took his star and he lost the opportunity to pick a prize out of the prize bucket.

I was so shattered by the whole mess that when we got home I let everyone watch Curious George and Word Girl while I tried to figure out what to do about choir. Because there's also choir on Wednesdays, which requires a car with a key. After much phoning and gnashing of my own teeth, someone from the choir with a van volunteered to come get all of us.

Really, there's nothing like taking four small children to choir practice at night in winter. I bathed them all, stuffed them into warm pjs, stuffed them into coats, and then plonked them in front of this

while I filled bottles and found snacks and looked for the list of music. Choir itself involved holding the baby (first on the back and then the front), moving E closer to and then farther away from the heater as her internal temperature dictated (she sat with her eyes shut and her hands folded in holy contemplation. Later I discovered she was thinking about how much candy she expected to receive and not about the music, or God), catching my boys by their collars as they ran laps around the church to tell them to NOT run laps around the church, finally forcing them to sit in the library because they couldn't Not run laps around the church, only to hear one wail (loud enough for everyone to hear) "It hurts my feelings when you make me sit in here."

So I am sitting here in a stupor. Pretty soon I'm going to move my stupor to the school table where I will wrestle my children into learning whatever it is we're supposed to be learning today. And then I'm going to make them Clean!!! NOW, no don't dawdle, no stop touching your brother, CLEAN!!! because Daddy is coming home and if he delays at all, well, we'll see.

Oh, and if you're in Binghamton and you're planning to go to the Noon Eucharist today, its canceled, because I can't get there.