pie or cobbler or whatever

I started out thinking I'd make apple dumplings but as I went on I got lazier and more pressed for time. After peeling and coring three apples, when they wouldn't fit nicely in my pan I lost my temper and sliced them up. By which point it was supper time and my dessert making moment had essentially vanished so I pivoted towards a pie crust (2 cups flour, 2 sticks butter crumbled together) using milk instead of water for binding, instead of making that complicated dumpling dough I can't even remember how to do. And then it really was supper time so I piled all the dough all over the apples and mushed it down in a heavy-handed and fraught way (normally I'm pretty careful about rolling out pie dough--confidence but not thuggery or it comes out too tough). And then I baked it at 350 while we ate lentils and rice, the children carefully trying to eat around the lentils and Matt and I gazing across the table at each other in boredom and anguish as the baby poured glass after glass of water on the floor and more and more rice was pushed over the side of each plate. The pie/cobbler/whatever came out golden and gorgeous. I should probably also mention that before mashing the dough in over the apples I happened to pour half a cup of Manzanilla along with a whole lot of brown sugar all over them. This, perhaps, is the key to the whole experience. The pie was tart and sweet but not too sweet. I fed it to the children in little prep bowls--first, seconds and then thirds--and stood furtively in the kitchen eating it quietly myself with a large serving spoon.

give me an award, i'm awesome

Having been foolish enough to watch the Emmys last night (because, you know, I thought, how can I just throw away a couple of hours, down into the pit of time that can never be gotten back, ever ever) I am rather struck by the contrast in the clear light of day between an exhausting evening of narcissistic self-adulation arrayed splendifoursly in a room of expensively dressed muddleheaded actors and actresses against the violent crowds of American hating rioters flung far and wide around the globe. The crowd's muddleheadedness is easy to see with all the screaming and blood and flag burning but at least it is turned out. (Boy they really hate America.) The insipidity of the Emmys, turned inward, (Boy, they really love themselves) is just exasperating. Over dressed Americans peacock and poise on a vast stage in hues of neon, chartreuse and ugly while tee-shirted and jean-ed young men wave their fists and die of smoke inhalation. And I, I watch it all, the preeminent fool, and go to bed with a profound headache and fits of anxiety about how idiotic it all is, on every side.

a week gone quickly by

one

Besides the obvious reason of being too busy to carry on with a blog, the real reason I haven't been posting that much is because I've been watching and reading the news with horrified addiction. Not only is the situation in Mali not terribly awesome, but the insanity of whatever 'foreign policy' emanating from this administration is riveting, in a terrifying sort of way. Spent ten minutes in the back yard this week trying to mentally calculate how many potatoes we could grow if we had to, even though we don't really eat potatoes, but the math eventually proved to be too much for me.

two

But we took a break from school and world affairs yesterday to go see the local opera's production of Jack and the Beanstalk. They go round to all the schools and then offer a free showing to homeschoolers. How lovely is that? My own children were philistine in their response, "Are we getting ice cream?" when it was all over. (Ice Cream? What am I? The Easter Bunny? No there's no Ice Cream.) I had a good time, though, so nobody need worry.

three

And then on the way home my very good friend enabled me to buy a desk sitting by the side of the road by walking all the children to a park so that I would be able to shove the desk into my car before someone else came and tried to take it.
"How much did you pay?" inquired Matt with arched eyebrows as he helped me muscle it into the garage.
"Not very much, and look! Its so beautiful!"
"Its not that beautiful. It needs to be glued."
"Just a little glue and then it will be perfect!"
"Whatever," he said, hoping I would go away so he could keep working.

four

So I rushed off to collect the children from my friend who was much taken aback by Glady's rendition of a small psychotically demented pony.
"Watch" she said pushing Gladys higher and higher, "she does this weird thing."
"Oh that," I said when she finally did it again, "that sound can really cut through the back of your skull."

five

So I gathered them away and spent the afternoon cooking for Shepherd's Bowl at church. I realize, of course, that by blogging about it, I'm loosing any merit I might have accrued in engaging in such a selfless act, but who are we really kidding? My martyr and piety points are always completely eviscerated every evening when I tell Matt what I really thought about everything.

I made a vast pot of potato curry stew with chicken, broccoli, carrots, corn and peas. And I had a very good time doing it. The stove at church is so fine--squat and black and smoldering--and there's a sharp sharp knife which makes all the difference.

six

Oh, and I shouldn't go much farther without exclaiming over the half of a pig we've come into. Half a fat fat pig with fat all over. And in another month arrives the bacon and hams. Another very good friend's eyes became misty as she surveyed the arrival of this pig (brought over by other very good friends--can I just say, the number of friends busting out of this place is a surprise to me, given, as I always am, to muttering to myself "Can anything good come out of Binghamton?" And now, if that other very good friend who's thinking about leaving Binghamton would think just a little harder and decide not to do it, my happiness would be complete.) "Where can I get a pig like this?" she wanted to know. Which led necessarily to talk of eventually procuring a cow and all that sort of thing.

seven

Gladys is really internalizing Morning Prayer. She walks around singing all the time now, "Let the hope of the poor be taken away! Let the hope of the poor be taken away! Let the hope of the poor be taken away! Hey!"

Have a lovely weekend and go check out Jen!
seven

goodnight all

And so we come to the end of another extremely long day. While the children idled away their time in indolence and ignorance, I baked a bunch of stuff--cinnamon rolls, cheese and pepperoni rolls, muffins--and then made realio trulio cheeseburgers. Well, Matt cooked them, but I mushed the ground beef together for a long time, muttering curses at the state of the world and the fact that by 4:30 this afternoon, Elphine and Alouicious had not completed the absurdly simple number of tasks on their wretched laminated lists.

So, being that it is still depressingly pouring rain and I ought to be going to sleep anyway, I thought I would end this wreck of a day with some Jeeves and the Old School Chum.

"'Abandon the idea, Jeeves,' I said. 'I fear you have not studied the sex as i have. Missing her lunch means little or nothing to the female of the species. The feminine attitude towards lunch is notoriously airy and casual. Where you have made your bloomer is in confusing lunch with tea. Hell, it is well known, has no fury like a woman who wants her tea and can't get it. At such times the most amiable of the sex become mere bombs which a spark may ignite. But lunch, Jeeves, no. I should have thought you would have known that--a bird of your established intelligence."

when's the eating

I'd been really wanting to cook a lot of little things from a Spanish Tapas book I have sitting around and so after church one Sunday in August, Matt roasted a large piece of pig and I fussed around a lot of little dishes. First up are these egg stuffed tomatoes. Each tomato has an egg, heavy cream and Manchego cheese mellowing in its interior and was baked for a while until the egg was creamy and gorgeous. The end pictures weren't remarkable at all but over all...what an amazing way to eat egg and tomato. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and remember it.



Then, it turns out, you can deep fry sweet peppers without any kind of batter. I dropped these into hot hot oil for a bit and waited for them to turn a stark beautiful green.

Oops, turns out they actually turned brown and wrinkly. However, when I cut into the first one and tasted it, I thought perhaps I would cry, but then I thought, how stupid to cry when you can just have another bite and another and another. 
I lathered these all over everything I ate that day and the day after.

I should also say, these were grown locally by a couple who who belong to COGS.  Every Sunday, as the summer rolls gently by, a table in the Parish Hall is laden with the contents of their garden and with glorious eggs from their chickens. You walk in to see people hovering prayerfully over all the beautiful vegetables and praising God.

This wasn't in the cookbook but the combination of butter, mushroom and Manchego was not to be resisted by me. I kept adding butter as the mushrooms absorbed them...I wouldn't be able to tell you how much butter because I lost track after a while.

When it came time to sit down together for dinner, Matt told all the children that these mushrooms were so disgusting that we were doing them a great favor by not making them eat them. They seemed dubious but there was so much pork and bread mounded on their plates some of them eventually forgot. This, along with a whole avocado, we managed to eat silently and completely. Its so difficult, having to share food with children or other people.

And then I roasted some baby tomatoes from my garden with thyme, garlic and olive oil.

Matt also took the innerds of the egg stuffed tomatoes and mushed it around with some fresh herbs and poured cream all over it. And then we just stood there and ate it with spoons, again, very quietly, because the stupid baby loves tomato and squawks like an out of control raging duck when she sees one. I tried to photograph it but it came out badly every time.



So here is the long wait before dinner. Marigold and The Fat Baby of Binghamton sat for something like 45 minutes hoping for food.

And here is Elphine photographing the food along with me. Not sure what she planned to do with the pictures but she made a little news report later on the same camera.

Another waiting child.

And a child who wasn't that hungry because he ate a lot of cake at church and wishes he was playing on his kindle or something but is making the best of a bad situation by taking quiet mental inventory of all the wrongs and injustices done to him since very early that morning.

And what am I doing photographing during prayer? Doesn't he look pious? Don't be deceived. The second the prayer was over he asked if he was going to have to eat everything. "Oh no no," I said, "You get to eat pork and bread. Everything else tastes funny and is bad for you."
"Oh," he sighed heavily, relieved.
Elphine narrowed her eyes at me and insisted that she loves mushrooms. Irritating child.

I've been trying to get this post up every day for the past week. IN FACT, I had promised myself I would blog every day, without fail. But instead of blogging I recalibrated our homeschool day and plan and continued trying to get ready for the start of Sunday School, which is tomorrow. Just as soon as Sunday School is humming nicely along I can face the Great Autumn Clothes Change Over of 2012. It is at these moments that I long to live in a temperate one temperature climate. And now, I will arise, and have another go at those Sunday School Rooms because those little sheep are not going to dust and arrange themselves. Have a lovely weekend and Go To Church!

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.

futility

As quickly as the four oldest children are putting away blocks, the two little ones are flinging them out. They are screaming at a fever pitch and running and, now, finally, throwing the blocks across the room.One considers getting up and waving the arms and trying to reverse the inevitable path of destruction and woe, but then one's blood pressure would rise and one might have a stroke or something.

I've recently been readings Proverbs and Ecclesiastes and wondering why God's present will allows the running out of things and their constant replenishment. The jar of oil starts out full but runs empty and you have to take the trouble to get more oil to put in the jar so that eventually it can run out and you can do it again...and again...and again. The circle of emptiness and fullness is built in to our lives firmly, fixedly. I'm going to get new paper and markers for the Sunday School rooms, and stickers and folders and new beans for pouring so that they can all be used up and ruined and thrown away.

Many days this irritates me. I just swept the floor. I don't want to do it again so soon. The children just put the school room in order. Now they are having to do it again because of their tyrannical and grimy siblings. We just bought oil last week. And rice. Didn't want to have to buy it again so soon.

And so it is, under the sun.
So much so that its hard to imagine things going on forever and not getting ruined. Imagine creation not in a cycle of death but in no cycle at all, just in worship. Frankly, I have no idea what that will look like. Will the pleasure of getting something put right still be there if it is never broken and needing to be fixed? Without the emptiness, we don't know the pleasure of filling the jar. Irritation on one hand, pleasure on the other. It doesn't say, at your right hand are first irritation and then pleasures forever more, just the pleasures forevermore and also the fullness of joy.

But then also, it doesn't say much about circles in scripture. Sure, we see them everywhere, even in the relationship of God and his people, it seems like an endless circle of sin and forgiveness. But the writers of scripture more often talk about paths, or roads. "You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." A path goes somewhere. The jar empties and is filled along the way, but the path itself doesn't circle. We either go towards God and his pleasures or away from him. I imagine the circle gets tighter and more frustrating the farther we go from God. Well, when I'm bent on a path of destruction, not wanting to look God in the face, for whatever reason, my own steps generally become more circular and futile. Then God comes and breaks the circular motion and "makes me know the path of life." Just as I, now, will go break in on these two babies and put them to bed. Let the circle be broken, as some might say.

7 quick takes

one

I can hear the babies stirring the dog water with spoons. I'm pretty sure they have put all the food from his bowl into the water. I could get up and freak out. On  the other hand, I can hear where they are. So if I freak out they will just go do something worse, probably.

two

Emily asked how we deal with whining and I've been wandering around the last two days thinking about what we do. Clearly, whatever we're doing works only part of the time or I wouldn't be using the word 'whine' as often as I do. It is like battling down the Assyrians. You may have them off your back for a few minutes but the second you think you can relax, there they are again.

So what are some things that have worked? It entirely depends on the child.
Elphine doesn't whine, much, so that's a great help.

So far Gladys doesn't whine either. She does have a high pitched mosquito voice but that's only because no one really listens to her. You can usually get her to stop screaming by pressing on her head and making her say it slowly. Usually she just wants to tell you that she needs another band-aid.
Romulus goes down at the end of his sentences, in a charmingly authoritative, though unacceptable way and so it doesn't sound like whining. When you tell him to stop, he nods his head and widens his eyes and stops, for a tiny minute.


So it really comes down to Alouicious, who is a preeminent whiner, and Marigold.
Marigold, for the moment, just has to be given a fried egg when she starts whining. She is usually too busy to eat and so when she starts to do this horrible dying cow moan, its time to fry an egg. In the last month she has whined less and been saying things like, 'I hungry egg' or, 'I thirsty water'. This has been an enormous help not only so that we don't loose our minds, but also in the matter of everybody else figuring out what a Helping Verb is.
Alouicious is like water dripping on a stone. My first response is usually, 'Stop whining. The Israelites whined in the wilderness and they all died. God hates whining. Stop it.' And then, because that doesn't stop it, I say something like, 'Stop. Lower your voice. Ask me again in a normal way.' And then, 'Here is what you sound like. WEeeeeeaahhhhhhh. Now try to sound like me.' And I lower my voice way down low and sing 'Old Man River'. And then we figured out that Alouicious is usually fine if he has some control over his life. So, so far in the last three weeks There Hasn't Been Any Whining Yet because I gave him his list on the first day and told him how much time he can have on his kindle and let it go. He reports to me obsessively even though I have very little interest in where he is on his agenda. Of course, he reports to me obsessively about everyone else as well, and that is not acceptable.

My other life long parenting strategy is to give as little information about what's coming next as possible. There is nothing worse than everyone thinking they're going to the library for a few hours and then have it not happen. So, we don't tell them Anything and then, when its time to go, do a drill sergeant routine to get them dressed and in the car as suddenly as possible. It takes ten minutes and there's no time for anyone to say, 'Where are we going? Why are we going? What are you going to get me? Can I have a muffin? I'm hungry. I need to go to the bathroom. I don't wannnaaaa go.' If you go from lolling about playing to suddenly scrambling to get in the car, there is no anxiety about the future and no time to get something out of your mother. I also rarely give warning that someone is coming over to play because that way, if someone gets sick or cancels, I don't have to hear about the horrible disappointment for the rest of the week.

three

Well, clearly, that should have been its own post. In possible later posts, How to Fail at Potty Training Every Single Time.

four

I have been longing to watch the Republican Convention but I honestly can't stay up for it. Why on earth does the main stuff have to start so late? I go to sleep at 9 o'clock! I did watch Ann Romney yesterday afternoon to see what all the hype was about and...well....really. I'm not married to Mitt Romney. In no way do I want to go home from any dance with him. And this little American Experiment, to me, does not even remotely resemble a dance. I'm not looking for a candidate who will make me feel 'safe' or who will be the hardest worker ever, or who will relate to me personally. What on earth with the 'relating personally' factor. Even Anderson Cooper's poor sad beautiful eyes as he tries to get his panel to figure out whether or not Romney is being 'personal' enough does not move me to care. To channel Mark Steyn, the modern world is coming to a fiscal end. Why isn't everyone running around the stage tearing their clothes, pouring ash on their heads and wailing with repentance and fear? That, I would stay up to watch.

five

If this is true, it would be amazing. I used to throw my malaria prophylactic into the building site at my boarding school, hoping to get sick to avoid school banquets. I got sick often but never missed one of those difficult and uncomfortable evenings. In fact, one year, I fell horribly ill on a Monday before but then was well enough the night of and was forced to go. Still, I was gorgeously thin. Well, maybe not 'gorgeous', maybe more gaunt.

six

I guess I better get up and feed the ravenous pack. There wasn't enough free bread at Shepherd's Bowl so I'll have to make pancakes instead of french toast. And we're out of syrup so they'll have to have jam or expensive golden syrup. And Romulus will cry because he would rather have 'Hot Cereal'. And I will get angry because what kind of horrible little kid would rather have Cream of Wheat from a box than real pancakes.

seven

Yesterday I got up to find that Matt had not just given Alouicious a cup of coffee, but had given ALL THE CHILDREN COFFEE, including the baby.
"What" he said when I started crying, "they wanted to know what it tastes like."
"BUT ITS ONLY 7:30 and ITS FULL OF CAFFINE."
"Well" he said, "Its mostly milk and sugar."
"SUGAR! BUT ITS ONLY 7:30 IN THE MORNING. I SHOULD STILL BE
 SLEEPING."
"Not with your new routine" he said, "You should have been up two hours ago."

Have a great weekend and go check out Jen!

a canine interlude

It was vouchsafed to me yesterday that I had mentioned only to a few people that we found the owner of the white dog--just a few minutes after I snapped this picture in fact.

The night before our first day of school--because I can feel that the devil, or someone, doesn't really want me to do school every day, including yesterday and possibly today and even some days last week--we took the dogs for a little walk and on our walk someone recognized him and stopped us and then ran to get his owner while we went home and waited. Joy abounded, as you can imagine, except in the hearts of all six children who started our first school day with long tearful prayers for the health and safety of 'Bonzoo' as we finally had been calling him. His name turned out to be Brutus...hardy har har.

For many subsequent days Marigold wandered around asking for the location of 'Bonzoo'. "Where Bonzoo?" she would whine pitifully and then answer herself, "Bonzoo gone." Balancing her distress was Matt's euphoric good mood. He practically jumped and skipped through the week, grinning and talking about the providence of God in caring for the dog and his owner. Everyone secretly wanted to hit him.

Turns out, in the end, that Asherbanapal also probably missed him. Ashy has been suffering an increasingly funny tummy and we've been having longer and longer walks while he tries to sort everything out. Yesterday we ended up at the vet with rather an embarrassing mess and a long, and finally, expensive amount of clean up. Woe is me. "What can cause the excessive growth of this little bacteria?" I inquired of the nurse as the vet hadn't really had time for us after the awful foul scene of the poor dog's derriere.
"A change in routine, stress, loss" the nurse rattled off.

So, there we are. Ashy must have missed Bonzoo. I can't think of any other big changes in his placid and routine bound life. And no, I don't accept that being sat on by six children would be "stressful". Children, you might remember, are a Gift from the Lord and therefore "not stressful". (That was just a little joke.)

a little learning

So what are we doing this year, for school?
Some of you asked, perhaps foolishly, but maybe you know best.
Hmmm....well.....

For poetry Elphine and Alouicious will be memorizing a couple of Tennyson poems--"The Eagle" and "The Flower in the Crannied Wall" even though I think its been identified as one of the worst poems ever written (where did I read that?)--and working through the new Roman Roads Media Grammar of Poetry, the first three lessons of which have been fun and interesting. Romulus and Gladys will go memorizing poems we happen to come along that we like. Right now those are "The Owl and the Pussycat", "The Puffin" and "Custard the Dragon".

For Grammar and Writing we're using Classical Writing again. The two oldest are doing the Aesop books. Romulus will be working through Memoria Press' Story Time Treasures if he could just.... remember... the..stupid....alphabet. We're already behind because its either been fall behind or run screaming around the yard from frustration. I jest, but only a little. Romulus reads just fine when he chooses to remember the letters. His intelligence is matched almost perfectly by his indolence.

For literature/vocab we're using Memoria Press Lit. Guides. Elphine is starting out with Heidi. Alouicious is finishing King Arthur from last year because it's really a fifth grade guide and he needs a lot of help. After those we'll do The Trojan War by Olivia Coolidge and then they can pick what they'd like to do next.

For history we're listening to The Story of the World volumes one and two, carrying on with the Veritas Press history cards in chronological order and doing both Memoria Press' Famous Men of Rome and D'Aulaire's Greek Myths.

Are you bored yet? WE AREN'T. We are mesmerized by the beauty of all these books and the chance to read and read and read and read and read and write and write and write some more.

For geography we're doing Memoria Press' Middle East, North Africa and Europe with a constant soundtrack of Geography Songs to pep it up.

Math, what can I say, we ditched Singapore Math and jumped into the Life of Fred boat. And what a marvelous boat it is. The constant squabbling over who gets the book when is charming.

But we didn't totally drop Singapore, we're using them for Science, overlaid with Lyrical Science songs.

As for foreign languages, Marigold, Gladys and I are dabbling in Pimsleur Mandarin, Elphine and Alouicious are whining their way through Visual Latin and all of us together are doing French with the Memoria Press Student Guide as a base but that's just so we'll do it.

On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays we say Morning Prayer (rite two, 1979, and believe me, I feel guilty every other day) with The Shorter Catechism for Young Children (not the Heidelberg, yet, sorry Matt) and John 3 plunked in instead of lessons and singing instead of the psalm (things like "O the deep deep love of Jesus", "New every morning", old ICA songs, and "Jesus loves me") . Don't worry, we read the bible in the evenings...sometimes...when we don't have to be somewhere.

On Fridays we'll do art and music, even if it kills us.
And that's about it.
(OH! Elphine and Alouicious are having proper piano lessons as well.)
As if that wasn't enough.

a new school year, all fresh and shiny

 The children swimming in that beautiful lake.

So we've been back to school for two weeks. The weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth has been within bound and reason. It's hard for everyone to switch over from waking up and playing to waking up and whining about having to work. Phew. Me chief of all. Add to the insanity that I decided I ought to wake up half an hour earlier this year and you have a less than placid kick off. The first week I wandered around in a drowsed stupor and the second week I skipped waking up early because of our little unplanned holiday. So this week will be just like the first week.

But I gain an awful lot in that half hour. First of all, I actually get out of bed, work out and do laundry. And then while the kids are waking up and asking stupid questions ("Are we doing school? Should I get dressed? Can I go buy a toy at the store?")  I get breakfast made and the house picked up. By pushing heartily through the early morning, when the children finish up school in the afternoon, I am not facing another mountain of house work. Instead I lie back in my new chair and think about blogging. Except that so far I haven't actually had the mental energy to do it. But I'm really hoping that will change as we acclimatize ourselves to structure and work again.

A friend recently asked "How do you do it all!" with a generous measure of admiration and possible disbelief in her voice. I've thought about this often since she asked, nearly every day in fact, and I think I have an answer. First of all, I don't do it All. I do a lot, but I don't do it All. I do a lot more than when I had one and then two and then three and then even four children. With each child comes a greater capacity to work. You discover that getting up one more time with a vomiting child isn't going to kill you, its just going to make you very very angry and tired. And along with the capacity to work comes the ability to discover what you really care about. So, over the last few years, I've discovered that I have to have a clean house (I know, my mother finds this hard to believe). I don't have to be on top of the laundry, I don't have to read books, I don't have to cut everyone's fingernails, but I do have to have the house picked up in order to be able to think.

Second, the babies stop being babies. I wish someone had told me this a long time ago, although I may not have been in a position to hear it so never mind. When you have a couple of babies to haul around, or even one, then why on earth are you trying to DO anything but make dinner and occasionally go to the mall? Babies don't need enrichment or school. They just need regular food and regular attitude checks. Bigger kids need enrichment and school, but babies, so help me, need to spend more time napping.
Third, big kids can do a lot of work. And work is so good, so life giving for everyone. School itself is interesting and fun. Cleaning the kitchen and having it look gleaming and pretty is satisfying. Making your bed and having your room picked up makes it possible to think AND to have friends over to play.

Elphine really loves to tick things off a list. Alouicious doesn't care so much, but its helpful to know what to do every day. He likes to wake up very early and do everything he can before other people wake up to distract him. Romulus, on the other hand, is learning about timing.
"Are you ready to do some work?" I asked the other day.
"Nah," he said, "I need to finish this game."
"Okay" I said cheerfully because I didn't want stop sweeping the floor. But three minutes later when I had started to make bread and he came in and announced imperiously, "Now I will do math."
I said, "Oh no you won't. I just waited for you, now you'll wait for me. And don't talk to me that way."

Maybe another time I'll write about what kind of curriculum we're using, unless it sounds boring to all you Gentle Readers. I am extremely interested in the subject but am told by Matt that it can be tiresome to hear too much about it. Well, he didn't say it quite like that but his eyes glazed over and I heard a gentle snoring after a few minutes of telling him about how many Literature Guides I thought we could do in one half of a year. More interesting to me is this cake--Nigella's Baby Bundt cake--which I made for my birthday. It has a hint of lime and needed a hint of brandy or something but that addition seemed a touch extravagant at the time. After eating it with fruit, a drizzle of golden syrup and full fat cream, you can eat it again three days later lathered in jam. And when your child says, "I like syrup more than jam," you can say, "how can you like bought syrup more than my gorgeous home made jam, you little twit" and then he can say, "well, I do really like your jam" very sheepishly. And now I'm going to remove a large marker from the baby and put her to bed because, remember, Babies Need More Naps.

happy birthday to me, I'm 100 and 3

So starts a ghastly song made up by the children last year. It goes on

And I'm still in pre-school
And I want my Mommmyyyy.
But my Mommy's at work
And she gave me cheese pizza
And I want my ice-cream.

All sung to the tune of 'Happy Birthday'. They sing it loudly all year. Fortunately for me, I haven't heard it once today, even though it is my birthday, because Five, read FIVE, whole Kennedy children are up swimming themselves silly at a little cottage on a beautiful lake. The baby only remains to me for the rest of the day and she is napping.

And so, to celebrate the quiet and the occassion, I'm going to make

jam

bread

pie

and

cake.

And then I expect I will be so exhausted I'll have to have a lie down.

Here is me, having lived through another year.

Clearly, to maintain my girlish figure, I won't be eating the jam nor pie nor cake nor even the bread, but I will smell it and look at it feel sad about the impermanence of life due to the terrible ravages of sin in the world. That's the sort of thing I like to do on a birthday. Given an empty jar and a dead balloon, I will happily put the balloon in the jar and take it out again and help everyone around me to see that life should be taken seriously. A foolish man jumps about and sings and eat cakes, but the man who mourns on his birthday isn't surprised by anything. Isn't that in the bible somewhere?

7 quick takes

one

It is gray and pouring rain. It feels like we're about to have winter already. Seriously considering taking up a seasonal affective disorder because, well, it seems to be there for the taking.

two

We're starting school next week anyway. Let it rain because the children will have LOTS to do. Think its going to be a little shock for their poor tender selves. Can hear the agonized whining already, just because they've had to make their beds and practice the piano this morning.

three

If you can call that plinking that I'm listening to right now, "practicing the piano".
We have a proper piano teacher! And so it won't be my problem when they have to explain why they don't know the song. Hard to put into words how happy I am about this.

four

So what do you do on your last full day of summer holiday and its pouring rain? If you're a child that is?
Watch this funny little guy.

My mom thought that "beyblading" was some cool Olympic sport. Sorry Mom! It turns out to be the above. And All Six of my children do it all day long, even the baby. She picks up anything she can find and flings it down hoping it will spin--plates, forks, grapes, books, everything--shouting what sounds to be 'epic battle' but I can't really tell.

five

But if you're me on your last day of summer "holiday" you fold laundry, finish making up a strict school schedule and wait for the last evening of VBS. Five evenings of four children going to hear about Jesus and two children going to bed early has brought about white fish baked with curry powder rubbed all over (I don't care, I like ordinary curry powder) and laid over a bed of stir fried vegetables from my garden. Well, I say 'stir fry' but that's just because I stirred them around in a pan and lathered them with butter and curry powder until they were practically fried. AND then, the next night, I sauteed shrimp with garlic, chives, some kind of old chili pepper from the back of the fridge and tomato from my garden, swirled round with a dollop of greek yogurt, a cutting of basil and a lather of hot chili oil at the end. So delicious. Honestly, I would have paid ten dollars to eat it.

six

Tomorrow we will have been married eleven years. Eleven years of remarkable eating. Eleven years of a wrecked house and constant cleaning up. Eleven years of pastoring and studying and preaching and teaching. Eleven years of pretty good, though sometimes very cheep, wine. Eleven years of stupid exercise. Eleven years of arguing about which documentary to watch. Eleven years of shouting at children to go back to sleep. Eleven years of talking theology and politics. Eleven  years of reading the Onion, Failblog, Cakewrecks, and other stupid stuff on the interwebs. Eleven years of the common things of life. Eleven years of sheer bliss.

seven

So now I guess I'll go have a stab at that "strict schedule". You have to make it, you know, so you can have something Not to do. Every morning over the next ten months I'll wake up and look at my plan for the day and say, to myself and anyone else standing around, 'boy, that was a dumb idea. Who thought of that?' And then go on and do something entirely different. But if I didn't have the plan, where would I be? This year I've got a fourth grader, a third grader, a first grader, a kindergartener, a preschooler and a menace. ALL that will be accounted for in my plan, as well as blogging, laundry, exercise, tea with a friend, occassional Shepherd's Bowl cooking, Sunday School teaching and organizing, maybe a little Altar Guild, some texting and internet surfing and then, also, constant Pimsleur Mandarin CD's in the background so I can shout 'BE QUIET, I JUST MISSED THE ENGLISH!'

on a saturday evening

Lately we've been exclusively eating frittata on Saturday evenings.

Eighteen or so eggs, a dollop of full fat cream, chives or sauteed onion or something, a golden mound of some kind of cheese, sometimes some sausage, all whipped together and plunked into a pan and into the oven at 350 for a while--until its golden and puffy and a knife comes out clean.

And a massive loaf of bread sliced up and lathered with butter. And a big salad.

Doesn't it sound all golden and lovely?
But here's the thing. Tonight There Were No Leftovers.
Let me repeat....There Were No Leftovers. The wretched children ate every single scrap of food and then cast their eyes about for whatever else there might be.

Which just, well, it just made me angry. Leftovers are such an integral and necessary part of a well functional household. If you  don't have leftovers, well, where are you? Stuck making a dinner every single night, that's where.

Its a crying, as they say, shame. Two nights ago I made gorgeous mounds of strawberry shortcake. Two cups flour, one tablespoon baking powder, pinch salt, two-thirds cup lard, one cup milk, and, just to be really special, a spattering of cinnamon and a Whole Third Cup of Real Sugar, mushed together onto a baking pan at 350 for a while till a knife came out clean. And then a whole glorious bowl of strawberries with sugar until they were  running with juice and sweetness. Only three of the six children were there so I figured there would clearly be a chance to nip in well after dark and just finish it up. What? You don't bake with an eye towards that last closing of  the fridge whenever everyone else isn't around?

Anyway, There weren't Any Leftovers. None. Three children, one vat of strawberry shortcake, No Leftovers. It was almost enough to make me give up. Really, what's the point. I might as well just crack open a can of spam and climb under my bed.

the fence post

As many of you know, we live right next to our place of work, Church of the Good Shepherd (COGS). Matt once did a little video of his 30 second "commute" with much smug hilarity. On Sunday mornings we get all dressed up and trip lightly up our little walk to the back door of the church. Of course, when I say we, I mean Matt and all the children. It takes me a teensy bit longer to get there what with the fact that I can never find my shoes and someone has walked off with my Sunday School Lesson and then it turns out that the person who hid my shoes had also carefully scattered all the other shoes in the whole house all over the living room so that if we invite anyone home for a nip of sherry they will have to remove a wide ranging assortment of all fashions/all season's footwear. So anyway, this is the view out of my bedroom window. Matt "opened up a bed", a habit to which he has recently become addicted, and then, in a stroke of brilliance, filled it with all this lovely pebble so that we can sit about feeling practically French (except that it's way to muggy and buggy just this moment).

 If you stand on our walkway this is the view towards the parking lot. I've said before that if you sit quietly in this little area you can hear everyone going by across the parking lot, to and from the bus and grocery, and you can hear everything that's said in the church kitchen. Not that I would every sit and listen, mind you, but it may be that other people, who might be in my back garden, might be sitting quietly. You never know. Mostly, though, I don't sit. The moment I sit I leap up again to destroy some weed or slug or horrible beatle or something.

The space between our house and the church is very sheltered and safe. But by the point of the walkway, there has been a wide open vast expanse of green encompassing a straight shot to the main road on one side, and a straight shot to the other quieter, though highly foottrafficked road on the other. Either way, if a child or dog or cat wanted to make a break for it, there wasn't a thing besides our vigilance to stop them. Although, to be fair, my children, because of all the fear of God we threatened into them, are pretty obedient. Its all the strangers walking by and/or breaking into the church (well, I say 'all' but its only happened twice) that make me really nervous.

So now, when you look at the church from the quieter road, here is what you see. And who knows how many children and dogs might be back there? None, maybe, or a dozen. Ha!

And notice that the lovely big church airconditioner is outside of my bit. So guess whose children aren't out there wrecking and breaking everything? That's right! Mine aren't. They're on my side wrecking and breaking their own toys.


And here is that same section from the otherside, in what is now a capacious amount of lawn and what will eventually be filled with beds of flowers and vegetables. Matt is planning to "dig out beds" until there is only one tiny section of grass and there he will put in a "water feature". Knock yourself out, babe.
We chucked the pink plastic house fifteen minutes after Gladys climbed up and then slid down head first. I'd been biding my time for an excuse. Its the innoncence of children, I always say, that leads us forward.

 
Here is the fence in its initial stages.
There was a whole day of a huge post hole digger and cement mixer and many people to help put in the posts. And then another hot week of dedication by Wardens (that's an Anglican thing, not a prison thing) themselves who put the whole thing together, slat by slat. Every morning the dogs would rush out to attack and then stop for a long pat.

Alouicious, after observing the proceedings from some amount of time, realized that the space was quickly narrowing up and pitched a little fit. Turns out, though, that when we sit about eating our suppers of a long summer evening, when they go over to the other side of the fence, its much quieter. On the whole, a beautiful arrangment.





And here are the old arborvitaes. All green and fine and sheltering. Matt watered them faithfully until we started having rain every single day. 





 I hope to plant fruit trees all along here, or something. Who knows what tomorrow may bring.


Meanwhile, the children strut around and complain about how everything is too hot. Stupid northern children. Don't they realize this is the right temperature?

in praise of mediocrity

We're having a week "off" watching the Olympics and squabbling with each other. For my second day "off" I'm going to do laundry and write up my Individualized Home Instruction Plans (IHIP) for each child and then think about burying myself under a rock or something. Can you believe that I have every single book, apparently, that I'll need for the year ordered, arrived and shelved by child by subject in the school room...and my desk is clean? I can't believe it either. But its true and as a result of its being true, I am going to have to actually do all those other things I also didn't want to do, like laundry, and writing up a purpose mission statement for the Sunday School (sorry CHEC! I am doing it! I am! I am! I am!). But at least I don't have to dive off a huge tall diving board perfectly synchronized to someone else and then miss out on the dream of my whole life because my "partner" splashed into the pool slightly too much. Boy, that would rot. That's the take away lesson, kids! Don't pour your life into only one activity because it might turn out to be not that awesome.
"That's ok, mommy," Gladys assured me after this little speech. "I weally weally love bayblading but I love God more. AND" she said, driving the point home, "Jesus is God and God is Jesus."
Isn't it great how holy and spiritual my children are? Wish you could hear the supercilious relish with which Gladys talks about God. Boy has she got it all figured out. She could be an NBC Olympic Interviewer for her remarkable timing and self-righteousness.
Happy Olympic Viewing!

some quick takes

Now we are six.
Romulus turned six yesterday.

His hair is all shaggy and wild and he's been running around for days amending a long, but compared to his sister, uncomplicated list of things he longs for: Knights, a Pokemon 50 pack, cars, cars, cars, a Batman mask. He wanted a "rainbow" cake with that part inside. So, as far as I could figure out, he meant Funfetti, that vile sugary "cake" like substance that is so ubiquitous in childhood. A table full of little boys hopped up on Funfetti and icing led to a nearly sonic sized amount of noise. In other words, a good time seemed to be had by all.

    

Before we were two. 

Marigold cut her own hair last weekend. I'm not the least bit surprised she was the first to do such a thing. If anyone in this family has an undercurrent of anything, its Marigold. She is silent and devastating wherever she goes. This morning she went and took the baby's bottle away from her while she was rolling around in bed causing much rage and frustration. Nasty little flower.

And we were also one.
Baby Elaine, whom I'm seriously thinking of just calling Honoria, what with her being such a solid girl, pushy and so forth, is far away from silent, shouting and bellowing wherever she goes.

She has taken to "singing" in church. She picks a note and hollers it, waving her bulletin in the air in a managerial sort of way. Her volume is matched only by her caution. She is cautious about the vacuum, about climbing on things, about water, about going outside, about Other People. Its ridiculous because if anybody could survive anything, it would probably be her, what with being so fat and all.













But one of us is four.
And very fussy about the wretched and horrible bow on every single dress worn every single day.

"Elphine tied my bow to be weally ugly" she said yesterday and then looked at me accusingly, "and your bow looks just like hers."
Ouch
  














And eight is a pretty good number.

But loud, and posturing and silly. Alouicious is entering into all the silly obnoxiousness that Elphine is blessedly leaving behind. He manages to throw everybody off task by just talking to them All The Time. BUT, he is lately really good with the babies. He has a knack for keeping them laughing and occupied and Baby Elaine Honoria prefers him to just about everyone else.














And ten is too old for me.

I was done growing by the time I was twelve. Done Growing. I looked at my shrimpy ten year old yesterday and prayed that she would at least get to be as tall as me, which I admit isn't much to boast about, but still. Each generation in my family seems to get slightly smaller. Soon we will barely exist at all. She found her camera from Christmas and charged it up and has been going around all morning making news reports. "This is Elphine reporting live from the living room" she announces with relish. "There was a big storm yesterday and the community is struggling to recover." She points the camera at her brother, "Alouicious, what can you tell us from the streets?"







And so we were all very busy.
My garden has been growing.
Except the storm tumped my biggest most glorious tomato over last night. About to go out and see what can be done about it, if anything. And I've taken every single thing off of every single shelf in my school room and either trashing it or putting it where it belongs.
 Booooorrrriiiinnngggggggggggg. To make it go faster I've been watching ancient episodes of Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister. SO Funny! Matt thinks I must be out of my tiny mind. But anyway, tonight we get to watch the Olympics. Any bets on how weird the opening ceremony will be?

7 quick takes

one

The pouring rain gets us out of going on any kind of outing today. You know. You ought to do something "fun" with your children but the idea fills you with a nameless dread and you would much rather spend the day cleaning the children's rooms because you went up there once last week and realized one child was hoarding paper and another child was hoarding what looks to be actual garbage and the babies had got hold of some kind of book and shredded it to a fine dust and so you feel really bad, as a parent, and know that if you get up there and actually clean, you will feel better about yourself. And that's what its all about anyway--feeling good about yourself--isn't it?

two

I know that its all about feelings because I happened to watch a little TV yesterday, which I don't often do. I just turned it on and flipped around and watched a bunch of commercials. There's a commercial for something called Beneful Dog Food. I don't know what they're trying to achieve with a name like 'Beneful' but I can, of course, imagine. So anyway, there's the big golden retriever running through a meadow chasing a ball and we get to hear what the dog is thinking. Turns out he doesn't know the word for 'ball' but he does know words like 'round', 'object', 'what makes me happiest is that when we're playing out here in this meadow my beloved friend and parent smiles and is happy whereas normally, when we're not playing in the meadow, he is a grim horrid man.' My own paraphrase. How remarkable to have advanced so far that dogs, once our obedient, if slightly less intelligent than cats, companions, now care more about how we feel than they do themselves.

three

Speaking of intelligence, our white "dog" barked loudly at the tv during this commercial and then this morning refused to go outside because it was raining.

four

Part of the flipping around landed us on The Real Hutterite Wives of some Wind Driven Snowy Location. I don't know what the program was really called but it was totally strange. Who are these cursing, gossiping, lard eating, education eschewing Hutterites? Elphine and I were entranced as acres of pie were churned out and many many women talked about how they had ditched their education to cook for the community. And the swearing. wow. No more TV for us.

five

Because I really feel like I oughta read more books. Other than blowing through Grace Livingston Hill's The Old Guard I haven't read anything in at least six weeks. Matt's idea of an ideal holiday was to lay around "reading books and watching movies". This idea brought tears of rage and frustration to my eyes because that's what he does when he's working, except for the laying around. He reads All Day (imagine) and then watches a movie while he makes dinner. And then he reads some more. Whereas I wander around picking up toys and yelling at children and then, on the rare occasions when I do pick up a book, fall asleep almost immediately, deeply enough to drool. On my vacation I'd like to...actually I have no idea. If Matt wants to read more that sounds fine.

six

I have a lovely artist friend who has taken up blogging. Go check her out! We don't agree about almost anything, well, except food, which, for me, trumps everything, so I hope you'll go read her! Now! Go! Skip Number Seven!

seven

Because I have to go take breakfast out of the oven anyway. Six cups of cooked oatmeal, whipped together with four eggs, 2T of baking powder, fat pinch salt, some sugar (or whatever), a couple of mushy peaches, some handfuls of blueberries, 1/4 cup oil or melted butter, 3 cups flour. Mashed into two buttered pans and then topped with great slabs of butter, a whole lot of cinnamon and some more sugar. Then into the oven at 350 for awhile until a toothpick comes out clean. And for a brief bright moment the whining stops and I can go back to sleep for fifteen minutes.

Cheerio. Go Check Out Jen!

a huge thank you to cogs

Three weeks ago Good Shepherd threw a party celebrating these last ten years of our ministry here in Binghamton. We had advanced warning of about 3 days which allowed us, or rather me, to fret with anxiety and consider being sick on that day. In the intervening time I dreamt twice that everybody stood up, one by one, to tell us, in detail, what a disappointment we've been and how sorry they are that we've been here this long.

But of course, it wasn't like that at all. In fact, the people of this church went quite the other way to embarrass us with praise. I was veritably and completely overwhelmed by the lovely and encouraging things said that day. You would think we are giants of faith, continually hard working, abounding in righteousness and perseverance from all that was said instead of people who regularly struggle to believe, who frequently let things fall through the cracks, who sin all the time. I praise God so much that he has worked so much, and used us even a little, to bring so many to himself and deepen and strengthen so so many in this church.

One thing, because were I to name them all this post would be as long as the whole blog up to this point, stands out as a particular grace. The MC of the day, one of the first people to welcome us when we arrived (and, may I just say, an extremely gracious person to me who was 36 weeks pregnant at the time and feeling like it was possible I would never give birth) read a beautiful letter in which she thanked us for bringing the gospel in such a way that it transformed Good Shepherd from a social club or gathering into a body of believing Christians motivated to go out into the world. That our mission to Good Shepherd would have so succeeded that the people here see what God has done and are grateful for his work was encouraging beyond what I can say. That God should so transform and form a people for himself to take a true and sacrificial stand for the truth of the Gospel and then push out into the community and the world is so strengthening to me personally.

Because many many days, when Matt is struggling to study while children whirl and shout and want to tell him about pokemon and Little House on the Prairie, when we pray and pray for people whose lives are coming apart, when I paint tiny little sheep only to have a helpful child color all over them with marker, many many days we are discouraged. Many many days we wonder if God is really doing anything at all or if we are striving in vain.

So thank you for telling us what God has done. Thank you for the amazing amazing gift and the beautiful heart for my garden. Thank you for all the balloons and the cake. Thank you for loving on our kids and being patient with them. Thank you for forgiving us when we've been wrong, for being patient when we've been slow. Thank you for taking care of us all these years--bailing out lakes of water from the basement, providing us with a gorgeous house and a vast safe and beautiful yard, bringing us meals and boxes and boxes of fancy sugar cereal, for all the cookies and chocolate milk during the early service, for moving us on the coldest day of the coldest January, for spurring us on to work for you and serve you and love you.

Thank you Good Shepherd! Here's to the next ten years!

elphine turns ten

Elphine turns 10 today and has been up since 4:30. She is the one child that sleeps till at least 8am, sometimes 9. It breaks my heart to find her banging around singing and smashing up the general peace and its not even 7 yet.

Matt looked reproachfully at me just now as I screamed for the seventh time, "stop kicking me in the head! If you can't be still go back to bed!"
and whispered, "when I was a child and woke up at four on my birthday my mother got up with me and gave me whatever I wanted."
"Well she's not here is she!" I gurgled in despair.

Now, at least, I've had that vital first cup of oolong and can begin to emerge from the shattered recesses of sleep. After I post this I have to begin to shove us in the car to go up to a small lake for the day. I've made what looks to be awfully like Hot Pockets but they taste a lot nicer. "Call them Satchels" said Matt, ever helpful. Ham, Cheese and Potato, Pepperoni and Cheese, Ham and Tomato. And then a lot of little tiny fruit pie bites--blueberry and nectarine.

"We need to make brownies," said Elphine surveying the vast array of bread and pie after we had put everything away.
"!! What!?" I said.

She's being given a bike and some dishes and a black skirt and shawl (! I know, I have no idea!). Yet again she goes without An Old Fashioned Doll because none of us can figure out what she means and sort out a way to acquire such an object.

And now, if I don't arise, there will be no hope for my child and I will loose my mind. Pip Pip.

hoof and mouth and stuff

 (Sorry about the horrible picture quality. Fingerprints all over my phone.)

A lot of us have Foot Mouth and Hand disease or whatever its called. Not me, I don't have it yet, but a bunch of kids have it or have had it and a couple of other ones have been throwing up and one has had some headaches and probably a few have bad attitudes and one certainly has some bad problem in his soul.

I don't know. I stopped keeping tally a few days ago. Basically, since Ma Jolie Petite Maman went on to her next lovely thing I've been wandering around sweeping, remaking beds and trying to get some kids to eat Something, Anything.

 

Fortunately, its summer! So the poor suckers aren't missing anything important, like school work.

Anyway, a few blog posts in the works are: 
The Gorgeous New Fence
Elphine Turns Ten
All the Shiny New School Books
How Do You Do It All?: A question from a friend who thinks I'm better than I am
Theology Matters: A reflection on how your bad view of God really will badly affect your life 
Blog Awards: Thanks Guys!
and finally
Stuff: You can run around simplifying your life or you can sit and surf the internet...I think we all know which is the better choice