It is really really hard not to become soppy and cliche about growing things in a garden. One would think, or at least I always did, that putting your fingers in the dirt and mucking around with cheap packets of seeds and flinging slugs over the fence to the poor neighbor (whom, of course, I love as Christ has commanded me) would be a task sent to ground me in terminal Reality.
And yet, morning after morning the nearly same euphoria of having a new baby is constantly attacking me as I Inspect My Garden. I am daily grossed out by my own nostaligic love for the various badly arranged plants in my back yard and bit of community garden.
I know you must all be horrified to hear that on occassion I am overcome by delight for my own children, and now also my own garden. Soon you will find me canning and driveling. And before that, swooning over my new fence.
I'm so sorry, and yet, I think, not really.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
blown along
As usual at this time of the morning, there is some kind of crazed circus being played out by a variety of children who wake with every dawn ready to jump, shout, twirl, kick, whine and in other ways make me count the minutes till my walk at 7am. Four out of six are sleeping the sleep of the stayed-up-till-9:30 but those two babies...my goodness. They could go to sleep at 3am and still wake ready to kick me in the head.
This week has wandered quickly away from me before I could catch it and make it do something sensible. I've had extra children in amongst my own to play and I've been weeding my lettuces and staking up my tomatoes. And all the way along I've been feeling really sad about my friend Lauren. Elphine, who happened to be around when we read all the news reports on Sunday (see the post directly below this one), has wanted to talk about it, so much so that I had to forbid her from talking or thinking about it before bedtimes so that she would be able to go to sleep. And honestly, as I wake up morning by morning, and think 'maybe I should blog' I usually choose instead to have a look at the garden and destroy slugs etc rather than clutter up the internet with anything extra. The simple domestic rites of opening the curtains in the morning, picking up toys and crayons and shoes scattered all over from the day before, making a child brush her hair, holding someone else's baby for an afternoon, pulling out and throwing away the six pairs of shoes I long to wear but never will, is it possible that these are more important, more weighty, this week?
Lauren has been carrying on writing on Facebook since her blog has been shut down. Reading her is like gazing down into a great abyss of grief, so vast, so immeasurable, that only God could gather it up and measure it. On Tuesday we started reading The Silver Chair after dinner. Jill, you might remember, immobilized by fear, stands on the edge of the precipice as Eustace tumbles over. And then, as it seems that all is lost, she sees that rather than falling, he is being blown through the air, and then she looks over and sees it is a lion doing the blowing. That is all my prayer for Lauren and her girls. That she be blown along by Jesus, that her feet not touch the hard rocky ground.
This week has wandered quickly away from me before I could catch it and make it do something sensible. I've had extra children in amongst my own to play and I've been weeding my lettuces and staking up my tomatoes. And all the way along I've been feeling really sad about my friend Lauren. Elphine, who happened to be around when we read all the news reports on Sunday (see the post directly below this one), has wanted to talk about it, so much so that I had to forbid her from talking or thinking about it before bedtimes so that she would be able to go to sleep. And honestly, as I wake up morning by morning, and think 'maybe I should blog' I usually choose instead to have a look at the garden and destroy slugs etc rather than clutter up the internet with anything extra. The simple domestic rites of opening the curtains in the morning, picking up toys and crayons and shoes scattered all over from the day before, making a child brush her hair, holding someone else's baby for an afternoon, pulling out and throwing away the six pairs of shoes I long to wear but never will, is it possible that these are more important, more weighty, this week?
Lauren has been carrying on writing on Facebook since her blog has been shut down. Reading her is like gazing down into a great abyss of grief, so vast, so immeasurable, that only God could gather it up and measure it. On Tuesday we started reading The Silver Chair after dinner. Jill, you might remember, immobilized by fear, stands on the edge of the precipice as Eustace tumbles over. And then, as it seems that all is lost, she sees that rather than falling, he is being blown through the air, and then she looks over and sees it is a lion doing the blowing. That is all my prayer for Lauren and her girls. That she be blown along by Jesus, that her feet not touch the hard rocky ground.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
please pray
If you have a chance to pray for my friend Lauren who blogs at Sparkling Adventures I'd be so grateful.
I've had her linked on the side for many years now.
She lost her baby, Elijah, this weekend and it seems that her husband, David, is under suspicion.
Please pray for Lauren and her girls and her family as they struggle to discover what happened and grieve the loss of their precious baby.
I've had her linked on the side for many years now.
She lost her baby, Elijah, this weekend and it seems that her husband, David, is under suspicion.
Please pray for Lauren and her girls and her family as they struggle to discover what happened and grieve the loss of their precious baby.
Friday, June 22, 2012
quick birthday takes
one
If I was going to start a new blog (which I'm not going to do) I would call it My Obese Cat. But then I would have nothing to say because everything is contained in the title.
two
Today is my Mother's Birthday!
Happy Birthday Mother!
Anyway, today, in furtherance of the festal birthday, we're going to go to a local park with a lake to pray against the scattered thunder showers. Elphine made brownies YET AGAIN for our lunch and we'll probably have some other nice things. And while we do that
four
the fence will be going in!
The wood is here, the cement mixer is here, the massive post hole digger is here. And we will be here except for when we're picnicking. SO Exciting!
five
Also very exciting and wonerful, albiet boring to all those whom I love, is that I got my quarterly and end of the year home school reports in on time. Not only so, but I've put serious time and energy into next year's plan, both calendar and curriculum. The glow of well being and accomplishment is only slightly softened by the large pile of other work sitting on my desk and in my heart--like going over our Sunday School program with a fine tooth pen.
six
Also, I need to wrest out of the grubby grasp of the baby some horrible birthday card that, when you open it, sings 'Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, tubby ol something something'. She was rewarded in her twice daily dig through the waste paper basket ("STOP THAT BABY" the whole world yells as she hones in like a remotely controlled Obama drone) by finding this card which sets us back days and days in the breaking of this vile habit.
seven
And that, dear friends, is the substance of my life. If I don't get up and start finding sunscreen, hats, umbrellas and food, these children will rise up as one and fling me into the Susquehanna.
Go check out Jen!
If I was going to start a new blog (which I'm not going to do) I would call it My Obese Cat. But then I would have nothing to say because everything is contained in the title.
two
Today is my Mother's Birthday!
Happy Birthday Mother!
Earlier in the week she made a gorgeous dinner for us and my aunt and uncle from Norway.
The salads were beautifully abundant enough to feed us for a whole week.
But we ate them all and then ate Zanzibar Chicken (unphotographed) and finally chocolate pots.
And Elphine made brownies AGAIN!
The dogs lay about hoping for food to rain down, upon the place beneath.
three
And then, because... well....when Landers gather together inevitably the subject of my late grandmother's unfortunate habit of crochet rears its startling head, my mother put on the famous purple teacozy? or is it a hat? And she and my aunt talked Lander Legs, Lander Arms and Lander Hearts.
four
the fence will be going in!
The wood is here, the cement mixer is here, the massive post hole digger is here. And we will be here except for when we're picnicking. SO Exciting!
five
Also very exciting and wonerful, albiet boring to all those whom I love, is that I got my quarterly and end of the year home school reports in on time. Not only so, but I've put serious time and energy into next year's plan, both calendar and curriculum. The glow of well being and accomplishment is only slightly softened by the large pile of other work sitting on my desk and in my heart--like going over our Sunday School program with a fine tooth pen.
six
Also, I need to wrest out of the grubby grasp of the baby some horrible birthday card that, when you open it, sings 'Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, tubby ol something something'. She was rewarded in her twice daily dig through the waste paper basket ("STOP THAT BABY" the whole world yells as she hones in like a remotely controlled Obama drone) by finding this card which sets us back days and days in the breaking of this vile habit.
seven
And that, dear friends, is the substance of my life. If I don't get up and start finding sunscreen, hats, umbrellas and food, these children will rise up as one and fling me into the Susquehanna.
Go check out Jen!
Monday, June 18, 2012
hee hee
David Mitchell is doing soap boxes again! And since practically everybody at Good Shepherd stood in front of the vast array of coffee hour celebratory Anglican cake yesterday and 1. knew they shouldn't eat it and 2. had been told not to fast by the preacher, I thought this really would cheer them all this fine Monday morning. Except, don't believe him! heheeeee
Saturday, June 16, 2012
ar·bor·vi·tae
They were pulled right up out of the ground and carried along and replanted along the back fence of the church property. It rained and rained and rained as a something like 14 trees were pulled up and replanted.
Here was the fence before the trees.Here we are, looking back at the house, the trees all gone. It looks very bare and exposed, but a fence is going to go in later. Meanwhile, there's a huge stretch of grass upon which to run races.
Here they were, right before they were moved.
The Long View.
By the end of the day, they were soaked through and mud covered.
This is still my favorite bit, tree after tree, dancing through the air.
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.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
cook with your children, the experts say
Elphine is making brownies.
She's been making them since about 1pm this afternoon. I've been trying to patiently not loose my mind, but as we head into the fourth hour of brownie making (from a box, let the truth be known) I feel that the battle may be too much for me.
First she got the boxes of brownie mix out of the cupboard.
Then she read the directions. We got all the measuring cups out and talked about fractions....again. Her eyes glazed over and she stuck her chin out until that part was over. Then she got a half a cup of water from the sink, and a cup of oil from the cupboard and six eggs out of the fridge.
"You're only making two boxes" I said, "you only need four eggs." So she put two eggs back.
(God help us all.)
Then she poured all the liquid into the dry mix and stirred it for a while.
And then she added the eggs.
One
crushed
wreched
shell
at
a
time.
Then she stirred it some more.
"Good job." I said smiling through clenched teeth, "Let me stir it a little bit more so that there are no lumps."
Then she spooned the batter into muffin tins.
At this point I went and did something else because of the possibility of either infanticide or suicide. When I came back, she was covered in chocolate.
I know, as a parent, that its easy to toss that off--covered in chocolate--like, you know, the child has a lot of chocolate on the face and some on the elbow. I just want you to stop and rethink that image of "covered in chocolate" and instead of a child with a little bit of chocolate on the face and elbow, think of first a berry covered in chocolate, and then think of my whimsical meadow loving child (can you feel the positivity oozing from my pores?) covered in chocolate.
She was covered in chocolate.
Then she put the pans in the oven. After a bit she undertook to take them out. One pan was done, and then a few minutes later another pan was done and she took it out. But in all the comotion, she also took the third pan out--the bigger muffin sized tin. Through the course of the afternoon I have put it back into the oven no less than four times, and each time she has taken it out again almost immediately.
And so the final product (I hope its final, she is now in the shower trying to get the chocolate off) consists of a lot of underdone brownies jammed into a small casserol dish and then lathered with chocolate frosting. I expect they will be declicious, but they look a little worse for wear.
So there we are. Elphine made brownies. Maybe later she can make something else. May God have mercy on my soul.
She's been making them since about 1pm this afternoon. I've been trying to patiently not loose my mind, but as we head into the fourth hour of brownie making (from a box, let the truth be known) I feel that the battle may be too much for me.
First she got the boxes of brownie mix out of the cupboard.
Then she read the directions. We got all the measuring cups out and talked about fractions....again. Her eyes glazed over and she stuck her chin out until that part was over. Then she got a half a cup of water from the sink, and a cup of oil from the cupboard and six eggs out of the fridge.
"You're only making two boxes" I said, "you only need four eggs." So she put two eggs back.
(God help us all.)
Then she poured all the liquid into the dry mix and stirred it for a while.
And then she added the eggs.
One
crushed
wreched
shell
at
a
time.
Then she stirred it some more.
"Good job." I said smiling through clenched teeth, "Let me stir it a little bit more so that there are no lumps."
Then she spooned the batter into muffin tins.
At this point I went and did something else because of the possibility of either infanticide or suicide. When I came back, she was covered in chocolate.
I know, as a parent, that its easy to toss that off--covered in chocolate--like, you know, the child has a lot of chocolate on the face and some on the elbow. I just want you to stop and rethink that image of "covered in chocolate" and instead of a child with a little bit of chocolate on the face and elbow, think of first a berry covered in chocolate, and then think of my whimsical meadow loving child (can you feel the positivity oozing from my pores?) covered in chocolate.
She was covered in chocolate.
Then she put the pans in the oven. After a bit she undertook to take them out. One pan was done, and then a few minutes later another pan was done and she took it out. But in all the comotion, she also took the third pan out--the bigger muffin sized tin. Through the course of the afternoon I have put it back into the oven no less than four times, and each time she has taken it out again almost immediately.
And so the final product (I hope its final, she is now in the shower trying to get the chocolate off) consists of a lot of underdone brownies jammed into a small casserol dish and then lathered with chocolate frosting. I expect they will be declicious, but they look a little worse for wear.
So there we are. Elphine made brownies. Maybe later she can make something else. May God have mercy on my soul.
Monday, June 11, 2012
a decade
Another church picnic come and gone (yesterday). As I stood in the water at the lake counting five of my children plus two others (one...two...three four five six.....don't see the seventh...oh, there it is) and catching up with friends I've not seen in a month, I realized that it was really the picnic that was our "first Sunday" ten years ago. We weren't ordained yet and we had just arrived so it wasn't our first Sunday in terms of work, but it was in terms of meeting everyone.
And, of the ten picnics come and gone, I guess I was probably pregnant for a full six of them. Well, I'm not sure. I would have to figure out when I was pregnant each year, bla bla bla, and that's too much trouble. I'm sure, however, that the sheer number of children has made the time go faster than it otherwise would.
So I think I'll go count up my gray hairs again, and reexamine the lines on my face.
And, of the ten picnics come and gone, I guess I was probably pregnant for a full six of them. Well, I'm not sure. I would have to figure out when I was pregnant each year, bla bla bla, and that's too much trouble. I'm sure, however, that the sheer number of children has made the time go faster than it otherwise would.
So I think I'll go count up my gray hairs again, and reexamine the lines on my face.
Friday, June 08, 2012
7 takes to catch up
one
I think its been a busy week but I can't really remember. My mom and dad are here and yesterday they drove down to NJ to pick up my Great Aunt and bring her up here for a visit. So that's very exciting and wonderful, and the explanation for why I've barely popped open my computer except to check my email, and even then I've been forgetting to do that.
two
I have been rather successfully keeping school going. I'm dreading the moment we finish everything and the multitude of the Kennedy children can wake up and careen around purposeless and triumphant. Some of them are already negotiating the level of their academic pursuits over the summer."Half an hour of reading" Alouicious has decreed, "no math, no writing."
"We'll see," I've said, "But whatever it is will definitely be more than half an hour of reading."
On the whole this year has been pretty good. ('High praise indeed,' you might scoff, unless you homeschool, in which case you know what I'm talking about.)
three
And I've sorted out my next school year, and planned when to buy what I'm going to buy. And I've deep cleaned my school room. And I finished the Great Clothes Change Over of 2012. But no I haven't weeded my garden, or planned Summer Sunday School (still accepting teachers, all you Good Shepherdians!), or gotten a handle on the laundry, or removed the horrible green marker dots from Glady's lovely pink dress, or clipped the dogs heavy coats of hair and given them a bath (Rain Rain! Go Away!).
four
Speaking of which, here is the little pom. Cute, if loud. But he is cured of barking on walks. Now he weeps at not being allowed to bark. And he is eating and sleeping comfortably.
He must be mixed with something. From all the pictures of Pomeranians I've looked at, he doesn't look exactly like that and his body is too squat I think. Anyway, there he is. Or rather, here he is with us.
five
I'm trying to read, or rather listen to, the Bible chronologically. This is the second time I've started (like a Pharisee, I never make it past Deuteronomy) so I've blown through the first 90 days of the plan in three weeks. I started this years ago when Jessica blogged so beautifully about it and I thought, 'Oh, that will make me so spiritually mature, like her' but then, obviously, here I am, three years later, still in the Pentateuch. Anyway, I finished Deuteronomy This Morning. So now I have only to click forward with my mouse, instead of sabotaging myself by going backwards.
six
As part of the Great Clothes Change Over of 2012 I came across a bin of pre-marriage skinny clothes and........I fit back into them. I almost wept with hope and wonder. And also wept because even though I can get into them, they don't look the same as they did so long ago. My shape has been irreparably altered by the six enormous human beings I've given life to. And, what a joy and wonder that's been. Anyway, I am heartened because I've been eating less food, which, if you read the books, you have to do to get skinnier, and walking up the wretched hill. And I've been hating every minute of it. But I think its been worth it. Of course, having written it down in a blog, I'll probably accidentally eat a whole cake today and balloon out. But there it is, marked in time and space, Anne Got Skinnier one time.
seven
Matt's parents are moving out of their lovely and beautiful home this weekend. They sold it very quickly when it went on the market, so quickly they haven't found the next house of their dreams. Matt looks like he could use a cake to cheer him up (just kidding, he hates cake! Don't bring cake! He won't eat it but I will! Srsly! NO CAKE!) and I'm sure they could use your prayers as they move into an apartment and keep house hunting. Don't you just hate change? And yet God is always asking us to change and be different and grow. I think some time he should just let us sit and not move house or anything.
And on that note, go check out Jen and have a lovely weekend!
Friday, June 01, 2012
seven more quick boring takes
one
The dogs are curled up together. It looks hot and uncomfortable. The two babies that are awake are fighting and hitting each other and me. Every now and then the baby tries to sit on my head. They are also 'singing' which just means they are just shouting really loud.
two
Really sad and discouraged by this news yesterday. Seems like we're not just sneaking up to the line of barbarism and violent ruination but are sprinting there.
three
My mom and dad get back tonight really late from their jaunt to the West Coast. So why am I lying here? Why am I not cleaning and doing laundry? Why? Why? Why?
four
Good Shepherd's Ice Cream Social/Health Fair is tomorrow from noon to three tomorrow! Pony rides! Ice Cream! Face Painting! Tons of awesome cool stuff! Come see us! You'll find me wandering around trying to keep track of all my kids and making sure they don't scam the system and take more stuff than they should.
five
Some of my seeds are coming up! And Elphine planted a little garden on Monday. And we're going to plant a little apple tree this weekend in between all the other excitements going on.
six
Naval Gazing is blogging again for those of us who regretted her long silence. Here is the best line of all my blog reading anywhere this week.I don't think God blesses righteous people financially unless everyone in the third world is an unrighteous piece of crap.Read the whole post, as I've obviously taken this totally out of context. heh.
Seven
And on that note, I'm going to move on to the next thing since I started writing this at 6am and now its 10:37 and basically in that time the house has vomited on itself, the children are not doing even one thing they're supposed to be doing but are instead fighting and wrestling and being awful and Matt keeps looking over at me pointedly like 'so, um, are you going to do anything today besides sit there blogging?' to which I reply, with my pointed glance 'you're sure one to say anything about blogging.'
Have a great weekend and go check out Jen!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
the pom among us
Yeah, so the dog is still here.
He comes if you shout 'Bonzo' really loudly and hysterically.
He has no microchip.
He has no tags.
He isn't being sought after on Craig's List.
I'm going to see what the paper can do for me today, and the Humane Society has written my message down on a piece of paper, may they not loose it. The next step is posters put up around the neighborhood this weekend.
Meanwhile, he seems to have made friends with everyone and especially likes to sit on the feet of whoever is making dinner, which has wrought much cussing and screaming as both Matt and I end up a mass of contusions from tripping over him in the dinner rush. He's also terribly behaved. He barks at all other dogs, even dogs who could eat him, and goes on barking until you pick him up and scuttle home in shame. He sits in the living room and barks just if he feels like it. He sits in the back yard and barks at the sounds he hears over the hedge. And then he growls when you try to take him inside and he doesn't want to go. BUT all that is worth it to see Matt holding him sheepishly and also walking him round the block, stopping every few seconds a la Cesar Milan to do that SHWEUP bite thing to make him stop barking at everything.
I won't hold him or walk him because I already have a dog. As for me and my dog, we are extremely embarrassed by the behavior of that dog and we stand around and gaze up to heaven as he is forced to sit until he stops barking.
I don't know what the Almighty is thinking. In the meantime, as I move about the house in the daily pursuit of my various and sundry domestic rites, I am followed by the gentle clicking of these two psuedo dogs and a couple of babies, and, in the far off distance, one or two cats who also cannot imagine what the Almighty must be thinking.
He comes if you shout 'Bonzo' really loudly and hysterically.
He has no microchip.
He has no tags.
He isn't being sought after on Craig's List.
I'm going to see what the paper can do for me today, and the Humane Society has written my message down on a piece of paper, may they not loose it. The next step is posters put up around the neighborhood this weekend.
Meanwhile, he seems to have made friends with everyone and especially likes to sit on the feet of whoever is making dinner, which has wrought much cussing and screaming as both Matt and I end up a mass of contusions from tripping over him in the dinner rush. He's also terribly behaved. He barks at all other dogs, even dogs who could eat him, and goes on barking until you pick him up and scuttle home in shame. He sits in the living room and barks just if he feels like it. He sits in the back yard and barks at the sounds he hears over the hedge. And then he growls when you try to take him inside and he doesn't want to go. BUT all that is worth it to see Matt holding him sheepishly and also walking him round the block, stopping every few seconds a la Cesar Milan to do that SHWEUP bite thing to make him stop barking at everything.
I won't hold him or walk him because I already have a dog. As for me and my dog, we are extremely embarrassed by the behavior of that dog and we stand around and gaze up to heaven as he is forced to sit until he stops barking.
I don't know what the Almighty is thinking. In the meantime, as I move about the house in the daily pursuit of my various and sundry domestic rites, I am followed by the gentle clicking of these two psuedo dogs and a couple of babies, and, in the far off distance, one or two cats who also cannot imagine what the Almighty must be thinking.
Monday, May 28, 2012
why I'm a calvinist
My favorite part of The Sacred Diary of Adrian Plass, and I'm going from memory here, goes something like
So anyway, these nice young men unloaded this ridiculous dog on us tonight. He seems to be fairly well looked after and has a collar but no tags. If you're in Binghamton on the southside could you ask your friends and neighbors if they know anything about him? We'll be posting something on Craig's List in the morning and calling around.
On the bright side, this thing (Matt is refusing to call it a dog) makes our own dog (a Toodle? or a Perrier? Which do you think sounds more stately?) look and sound like a veritable tower of manly dog strength. Sure he twirls, but in a menacing way. And sometimes he barks, but only to protect his spot on the bed. Plus, he sure is ugly, so that must count for something.
So, for those of us foolish enough to think that we can order and arrange our own lives, God says,
Laid a fleece. If a midget in a Japanese admiral's uniform arrives at the door at 9:04 precisely, I would know that God wanted me to sing carols.Wish I'd had the presence of mind to lay just such a fleece this evening. Something like
If, at 8:56pm on Memorial Day while I'm watering the community garden, five very tall African American young men come up to me bearing a fat white puffed Pomeranian dog then I would know that God wanted me to..........But I'm not struggling with any big decisions lately and didn't have the foreknowledge to lay any such fleece. Drat it all.
So anyway, these nice young men unloaded this ridiculous dog on us tonight. He seems to be fairly well looked after and has a collar but no tags. If you're in Binghamton on the southside could you ask your friends and neighbors if they know anything about him? We'll be posting something on Craig's List in the morning and calling around.
On the bright side, this thing (Matt is refusing to call it a dog) makes our own dog (a Toodle? or a Perrier? Which do you think sounds more stately?) look and sound like a veritable tower of manly dog strength. Sure he twirls, but in a menacing way. And sometimes he barks, but only to protect his spot on the bed. Plus, he sure is ugly, so that must count for something.
So, for those of us foolish enough to think that we can order and arrange our own lives, God says,
Here, take care of this Pomeranian.
the gentle idiot gardens
I have acquisitioned a plot in Good Shepherd's community garden. I plunked some seeds from a trusting and knowledgeable friend who never-the-less has seriously overestimated my abilities. Things like "swiss chard" and "peppers" went from her seed packets into my plot, and a tomato plant I acquired on Amazon (did you know you can buy plants on Amazon? Weird). Even so, it looks pretty dismal.
But then yesterday someone from church, let me rephrase that, lovely people from church brought vast amounts of tomato and squash plants and set them carefully next to my dead brown smear of earth. In the evening, as an act faith (the American kind, not the biblical kind) I tossed back a glass of wine and mucked them about into the soil. So now half my plot is alive and thriving (at least for the night) and the other half still looks rather dead. I'm going to give it three more days before I plow it under and move the squashes over.
And on Saturday I dug up a very sick rose bush and moved it gently and prayerfully to a different spot. And along the side of the house sunflowers are coming up where I didn't plant them. And I took a clipping from a bush in the front and plunked it in the ground in the back in the hopes that it will not die, but will live and grow.
Matt generally watches me messing around in the dirt with a tolerantly sarcastic air. Apparently he knows how to make plants stay alive. That being the case, he doesn't understand the terror and thrill of putting something in the ground and having it come up. He is nonchalant. He is breezy. He says lightly, "it will be fine." But also he doesn't know what a miraculous and tenuous occurrence it is, to have the wretched thing actually grow.
But then yesterday someone from church, let me rephrase that, lovely people from church brought vast amounts of tomato and squash plants and set them carefully next to my dead brown smear of earth. In the evening, as an act faith (the American kind, not the biblical kind) I tossed back a glass of wine and mucked them about into the soil. So now half my plot is alive and thriving (at least for the night) and the other half still looks rather dead. I'm going to give it three more days before I plow it under and move the squashes over.
And on Saturday I dug up a very sick rose bush and moved it gently and prayerfully to a different spot. And along the side of the house sunflowers are coming up where I didn't plant them. And I took a clipping from a bush in the front and plunked it in the ground in the back in the hopes that it will not die, but will live and grow.
Matt generally watches me messing around in the dirt with a tolerantly sarcastic air. Apparently he knows how to make plants stay alive. That being the case, he doesn't understand the terror and thrill of putting something in the ground and having it come up. He is nonchalant. He is breezy. He says lightly, "it will be fine." But also he doesn't know what a miraculous and tenuous occurrence it is, to have the wretched thing actually grow.
Friday, May 25, 2012
seven boring boring quick takes
one
Matt and Alouicious are about to go to men's bible study. Alouicious usually calls it Man's bible study. He gets up early and drinks a cup of sugary coffee and then is allowed to have some kind of soda during the study. He goes and eats the massive breakfast over there (church) and then comes home and gets in on the breakfast everyone is having over here. He's usually able to tell me what the text was and what was discussed but mainly its about the food and sugar.
two
That means that I'm left here with two awake babies who look like they've slept well and would therefore like to do something interesting, like take all the spices out of the cupboard. There's also the remains of the John McArthur sermon on the text from Acts for the bible study gently wafting over me. Its always a bit of a jar, listening to McArthur preaching on Acts on Friday mornings. On the other hand, I'm probably becoming a more mature and thoughtful Christian. Or something.
three
I pretty well have all my curriculum chosen for the fall. Of course, every time I get another catalog in the mail I go back to my list and make a few adjustments. Unfortunately, nobody seems as excited about it as I am--certainly not the children, and surprisingly not Matt who smiles a pastoral crinkly smile at me when I ask him if he'd like to hear about it.
four
(several hours later)
Elphine and Gladys got to go sleep at a friend's house Wednesday and apparently Elphine stayed awake all night. I didn't really believe her when she told me this fact, but I guess she was right because she's still asleep at 9am. Far be it from me to wake her up. May she sleep and sleep and be in a good mood upon arising.
five
My zinnia seeds appear to actually coming up, and some of the pink English daises. And three lonely sunflowers. And a lettuce. But nothing else, blast it all. Going to pray over all the seeds and shake my fists at some birds.
six
And also try to complete the Great Clothes Change Over of 2012. I have a ginormous pile of clothes to give away if anyone wants to come look through them before they disappear. But I wouldn't get excited, I'm weeding out all the ruined junky stuff.
seven
And on that note, I guess I should stop this and do all that. Cheerio!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
that's not safe
Monday we all went together to take two of the children to their well baby appointments. In general we have tiny children and so were astonished to discover that the baby is in the 30th percentile for height. "What a giant" said the doctor sardonically. We all laughed together.
Never mind that she, the baby, had thrown up a mere half an hour earlier.
Stupidly, we thought we'd make a day of it.
Pick up the house, get in the car, go to Wegmans for a serious stocking up, buy something for lunch, go to a park and then end up at the doctor to round out the whole day.
So of course it was raining as we wended our remarkable way out of Wegmans. I say remarkable because I can tell so many people are remarking on us in their own minds. I generally plaster a smile to myself as one adjusts a mast or something, grab a couple of hands of children and talk cheerfully to Matt or Elphine as we pass in front of the checkouts, not making eye contact but noting the startled mothers with one or two children in their carts, the bemused boomers who gently lift their eyebrows to the heavens, the gentle grandmothers who usually smile and sometimes say something helpful like "you sure do have your hands full."
The rain rained long enough for us to decide to eat our lunch in the car. Matt has a rule about this. A rule that says "No Eating In the Car Ever."
"You value the cleanness of the car over the health, well being and happiness of your children" I always say, "I'll clean the car, I promise."
"No you won't. You always say that and then you never do."
"That's true" I ripost (its the same conversation every time) "but this time I will for sure clean the car."
So we ate in the car and only the baby shredded her delicious ham salad sandwich all over the seat. One out of six is very reasonable. And we drove around looking for a park. Up a hill, round a bend, up another hill, back the opposite way, round another bend and then
blecheheheeeeee.
"What was that?" said Matt cautiously.
"The baby threw up."
Turns out ham salad and cookies don't sit well with her on a windy car ride. And I'm not the kind of mom to drag around a lot of extra clothes and diapers and stuff. I don't carry anything for children except a tiny book about a bunny and horse and a chicken who get left out of a parade and so make their own parade, a better parade. And I have a pen and a piece of paper. I don't carry bottles or sippy cups or snacks or anything. Certainly no extra clothes.
"We'll just take her to the doctor naked, "said Matt.
"Oh, that'll be good," I say, "perfect."
But the park has a lou, so we clean her up a little and remove all the offending garments and then go play at the playground.
Except that the playground is awful. Awful.
Only Marigold has a good time because she's too little to know better. There are swings and a sort of climbing thing that if you fall off the top of it, you can't possibly get hurt. And there's a thing to throw a ball through (except there's no ball), and a very very safe bouncy thing that you can sit in and sort of jiggle around, and a stupid little house. And then, as I watch my children wandering around looking at the lame lame set up, I realize, there probably are no fun play grounds left in America.
You can't have a high slide because you can try to jump off or go up the wrong way. You can't have a see-saw because its so easy to fall off at the top, or hurt the other kid by coming down yourself very sharply. You can't have a merry go round because once you get it going really fast and get ready to jump out, you can fall and scrape yourself. You can't have monkey bars because you'll definitely fall when you're in the forth grade and break your arm. And even though you and your mother didn't dream of suing, some other mother did and so there are no fun play grounds left, at least in Binghamton, at least the ones I've seen.
And so on the one hand we're kind of shocked by the whole idea of children at all, and on the other, we're terrified that anything will happen to the few that we have. We follow them around on playgrounds and everywhere saying 'do be careful dear, don't climb up there, don't do that, don't swing too high, don't do that' and then we bring them home and let them play angry birds (well me, I let my kids play angry birds but I feel really guilty about it). And so they learn not to take any risks, except maybe on the internet.
On that note, I'm going to go tell the child I hear meddling in the kitchen to Stop It, risk or no risk, naked or clothed, vomitous or not.
Never mind that she, the baby, had thrown up a mere half an hour earlier.
Stupidly, we thought we'd make a day of it.
Pick up the house, get in the car, go to Wegmans for a serious stocking up, buy something for lunch, go to a park and then end up at the doctor to round out the whole day.
So of course it was raining as we wended our remarkable way out of Wegmans. I say remarkable because I can tell so many people are remarking on us in their own minds. I generally plaster a smile to myself as one adjusts a mast or something, grab a couple of hands of children and talk cheerfully to Matt or Elphine as we pass in front of the checkouts, not making eye contact but noting the startled mothers with one or two children in their carts, the bemused boomers who gently lift their eyebrows to the heavens, the gentle grandmothers who usually smile and sometimes say something helpful like "you sure do have your hands full."
The rain rained long enough for us to decide to eat our lunch in the car. Matt has a rule about this. A rule that says "No Eating In the Car Ever."
"You value the cleanness of the car over the health, well being and happiness of your children" I always say, "I'll clean the car, I promise."
"No you won't. You always say that and then you never do."
"That's true" I ripost (its the same conversation every time) "but this time I will for sure clean the car."
So we ate in the car and only the baby shredded her delicious ham salad sandwich all over the seat. One out of six is very reasonable. And we drove around looking for a park. Up a hill, round a bend, up another hill, back the opposite way, round another bend and then
blecheheheeeeee.
"What was that?" said Matt cautiously.
"The baby threw up."
Turns out ham salad and cookies don't sit well with her on a windy car ride. And I'm not the kind of mom to drag around a lot of extra clothes and diapers and stuff. I don't carry anything for children except a tiny book about a bunny and horse and a chicken who get left out of a parade and so make their own parade, a better parade. And I have a pen and a piece of paper. I don't carry bottles or sippy cups or snacks or anything. Certainly no extra clothes.
"We'll just take her to the doctor naked, "said Matt.
"Oh, that'll be good," I say, "perfect."
But the park has a lou, so we clean her up a little and remove all the offending garments and then go play at the playground.
Except that the playground is awful. Awful.
Only Marigold has a good time because she's too little to know better. There are swings and a sort of climbing thing that if you fall off the top of it, you can't possibly get hurt. And there's a thing to throw a ball through (except there's no ball), and a very very safe bouncy thing that you can sit in and sort of jiggle around, and a stupid little house. And then, as I watch my children wandering around looking at the lame lame set up, I realize, there probably are no fun play grounds left in America.
You can't have a high slide because you can try to jump off or go up the wrong way. You can't have a see-saw because its so easy to fall off at the top, or hurt the other kid by coming down yourself very sharply. You can't have a merry go round because once you get it going really fast and get ready to jump out, you can fall and scrape yourself. You can't have monkey bars because you'll definitely fall when you're in the forth grade and break your arm. And even though you and your mother didn't dream of suing, some other mother did and so there are no fun play grounds left, at least in Binghamton, at least the ones I've seen.
And so on the one hand we're kind of shocked by the whole idea of children at all, and on the other, we're terrified that anything will happen to the few that we have. We follow them around on playgrounds and everywhere saying 'do be careful dear, don't climb up there, don't do that, don't swing too high, don't do that' and then we bring them home and let them play angry birds (well me, I let my kids play angry birds but I feel really guilty about it). And so they learn not to take any risks, except maybe on the internet.
On that note, I'm going to go tell the child I hear meddling in the kitchen to Stop It, risk or no risk, naked or clothed, vomitous or not.
Monday, May 21, 2012
monday morning haze
I'm supposed to be starting the Great Summer/Winter Clothes Change Over of 2012 and rousting us all to work in the garden and do other long neglected tasks. But I'd much rather lie here and fritter away my life reading snippets of things on the internet and petting the dog.
The dog, as can be noted by just looking at him, is a poodle of some variety and wishes to be held or to sit on you all the time. If you, for some stupid reason, stand up, he looks at you with a deep sadness, his eyes speaking to your depths. "Don't get up, sit here for a few more minutes" he says. Because of this foolishness, I have recently wasted quite a lot of time. Meanwhile, the cats sit at a distance and glare with profound contempt and rage. I caught one yesterday and petted her for ten minutes while she growled and hissed at me.
"I love you" I said, "and I know in your heart you love me and some day you will thank me for bringing change and difficulty into your life so that you might grow stronger."
"To whom are you talking?" Matt inquired in the midst of this gentle speech, "Because if it's the cat you're wasting your breath."
So anyway, two children have a well baby/child-visit today, both of them to receive vaccinations. We might all go since its our day off and we like to be all together (hardy har har) and then gather in some food lest we starve to death. And then I really want to saw the legs off another table. Its become kind of a thing for me, making tables shorter. Having discovered this amazing possibility, it is tempting to do it to every table I meet. And then we should remove that poor bird I found two days ago. One of those lovely delicate little brown sparrows (I assume sparrow, but as usual, I'm not rushing to look it up) lay right at the side of the drive very peacefully dead so I thought we might give it a Christian burial. And we will fend off the child who wants to play "The XBox 360". When referring to this device, he lowers his voice and speaks worshipfully, but also, I think, with the hint of a whine.
And by the end of the day, we will be So Well Rested that we will dive joyfully into the week, ready to work hard and build up the kingdom (again, hardy har har).
The dog, as can be noted by just looking at him, is a poodle of some variety and wishes to be held or to sit on you all the time. If you, for some stupid reason, stand up, he looks at you with a deep sadness, his eyes speaking to your depths. "Don't get up, sit here for a few more minutes" he says. Because of this foolishness, I have recently wasted quite a lot of time. Meanwhile, the cats sit at a distance and glare with profound contempt and rage. I caught one yesterday and petted her for ten minutes while she growled and hissed at me.
"I love you" I said, "and I know in your heart you love me and some day you will thank me for bringing change and difficulty into your life so that you might grow stronger."
"To whom are you talking?" Matt inquired in the midst of this gentle speech, "Because if it's the cat you're wasting your breath."
So anyway, two children have a well baby/child-visit today, both of them to receive vaccinations. We might all go since its our day off and we like to be all together (hardy har har) and then gather in some food lest we starve to death. And then I really want to saw the legs off another table. Its become kind of a thing for me, making tables shorter. Having discovered this amazing possibility, it is tempting to do it to every table I meet. And then we should remove that poor bird I found two days ago. One of those lovely delicate little brown sparrows (I assume sparrow, but as usual, I'm not rushing to look it up) lay right at the side of the drive very peacefully dead so I thought we might give it a Christian burial. And we will fend off the child who wants to play "The XBox 360". When referring to this device, he lowers his voice and speaks worshipfully, but also, I think, with the hint of a whine.
And by the end of the day, we will be So Well Rested that we will dive joyfully into the week, ready to work hard and build up the kingdom (again, hardy har har).
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
poetry
There once were six children all whining
In spite of their mother's insane crying
That they should all stop
Before she went pop
Dissolving into a vague gray shadow of herself...........
I've had this stupid non limerick stuck in my head for two years and I can't finish it or make it into anything. It just rattles around there in the back of my mind. But its a little bit better than Elphine's terrible mother's day poem.
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are orange.
Mothers are sweet.
And so are you.
"Nothing rhymes with 'orange'" I shouted, after laughing for a while. "Also, Marigolds can be yellow. Try"
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are yellow.
Mothers are sweet.
I'm wishing I had jello....
I'm feeling kind of mellow....
My voice is a kind of bellow....
I knew of a little fellow....
No use. I'm going to go fold laundry.
Pip Pip!
In spite of their mother's insane crying
That they should all stop
Before she went pop
Dissolving into a vague gray shadow of herself...........
I've had this stupid non limerick stuck in my head for two years and I can't finish it or make it into anything. It just rattles around there in the back of my mind. But its a little bit better than Elphine's terrible mother's day poem.
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are orange.
Mothers are sweet.
And so are you.
"Nothing rhymes with 'orange'" I shouted, after laughing for a while. "Also, Marigolds can be yellow. Try"
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are yellow.
Mothers are sweet.
I'm wishing I had jello....
I'm feeling kind of mellow....
My voice is a kind of bellow....
I knew of a little fellow....
Me embarrassed that I can't write a limerick. Baby Lady Elaine not surprised about it at all.
No use. I'm going to go fold laundry.
Pip Pip!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Ordinary Time
We are fast approaching the green season of Ordinary Time in the church year. The garden will grow, vegetables, flowers and weeds together. I will eventually get summer clothes out of bins and sweaters put away. We will slack off school for a couple of months. The boys will wear short sleeved shirts to church. A lot of Sundays it will seem sparse because it everyone is out of town. And our days will race by so quickly by the time September rolls around we will have whiplash. And then, just when we think the liturgical season should change because the school year has, we will go on being in Ordinary Time.
But from this vantage point, ordinary is so to be desired. The long exhausting season of feasting needs to folded up and put away or we will become like Aileen in Word Girl--monstrous, green, whining 'But everyday is my Biirrffffdaaaaayyyyy!'
I think a long Ordinary Time is a pleasant rebuke to our always-on-to-the-latest-thing-culture. I don't want anything new right now. I want some things to be useful until they become threadbare. I don't want to rush out and buy a new pair of shoes just because the shape of my heel is clearly last season's...well, I shouldn't lie, it is a lot more seasons before last season. From this angle nothing is to be gained by a new pair of shoes.
But I know that come September, the endless green of Ordinary Time will cause me to bite my lip and fret that we will never get on to the next new shiny thing. And that is when the rebuke will be for me and not for the general masses out there. Then, ordinary will feel insufficient. I will rearrange the furniture and be lured by school supply displays. Who knows what time it was when all the crowds left Jesus (well, obviously, someone probably knows but not me as I'm writing this) but I always figured it was sometime like September, or a change of season time. The crowds flitted away, thinking, 'whatever, if you won't give me bread I'm going back to see what's on sale in the market'.
And on that note, I am going to pick up this ordinary fat baby and hope that she doesn't move into any new stage for at least three days.
But from this vantage point, ordinary is so to be desired. The long exhausting season of feasting needs to folded up and put away or we will become like Aileen in Word Girl--monstrous, green, whining 'But everyday is my Biirrffffdaaaaayyyyy!'
I think a long Ordinary Time is a pleasant rebuke to our always-on-to-the-latest-thing-culture. I don't want anything new right now. I want some things to be useful until they become threadbare. I don't want to rush out and buy a new pair of shoes just because the shape of my heel is clearly last season's...well, I shouldn't lie, it is a lot more seasons before last season. From this angle nothing is to be gained by a new pair of shoes.
But I know that come September, the endless green of Ordinary Time will cause me to bite my lip and fret that we will never get on to the next new shiny thing. And that is when the rebuke will be for me and not for the general masses out there. Then, ordinary will feel insufficient. I will rearrange the furniture and be lured by school supply displays. Who knows what time it was when all the crowds left Jesus (well, obviously, someone probably knows but not me as I'm writing this) but I always figured it was sometime like September, or a change of season time. The crowds flitted away, thinking, 'whatever, if you won't give me bread I'm going back to see what's on sale in the market'.
And on that note, I am going to pick up this ordinary fat baby and hope that she doesn't move into any new stage for at least three days.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Happy Mother's Day
I hope you'll are bustling about getting ready to honor your mothers in a serious and heartfelt way through the weekend. I, of course, am deeply grateful to my own mother for being willing to have me. And to Matt's for being willing to have him.
And so, to show my deep appreciation and love, here is a little weekend present. Happy Mother's Day!
And so, to show my deep appreciation and love, here is a little weekend present. Happy Mother's Day!
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