Which meant my kids got to spend a little extra time with their favorite parent: La Tele (if I call our television by its French moniker, that makes it a cultural experience, right?).  We have a few movies checked out from the library that I’ve been trying to get them to watch.  Because this is how it works:

“Mom, put [insert title] on hold, please!”

“Okay.”

Receive title.

“Mom, it’s screentime.  We’re going to watch something on Netflix.”

“You realize we only have that movie for a week, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Time passes.

“Mom, what happened to that movie?”

“It was due.”

“What?!! NOOOOO!”

Insert general weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Doesn’t that sound delightful?

So yesterday I told them they had no choice with their extra time with La Tele: they were going to watch “Despicable Me”. With me. Because by the time of the arsenic hour, that was pretty much self-descriptive.

I rarely watch La Tele with the kids: I don’t sit still real well. Neither do they.  That’s a whole lot of wriggling on the couch. But I attempted to sit and enjoy our time together.

Hubby came downstairs later. I was busy throwing things together for dinner for those with stomach issues and tastebud issues. “Did you enjoy the movie? I heard a serious guffaw down there.” “What? Yeah, I guess. Some of it is funny. I was mostly being wooled on by Boo: sometimes I don’t even realize that she’s on my lap – when did she get up there? And for how long? Geez … OH, there was a funny part! There was this little girl, and the cranky old bad guy who adopts her and two other girls, and they’re at a fair, and she sees this unicorn and really wants it, and he blows apart the game to get it for her cause it’s rigged, and she growls, ‘It’s So Fluffy!!!!!’ Yeah, that made me laugh.”

You can laugh along with me right here.

The little girl reminded me of a cross between me and one of my besties: Hannah. After high school I cleaned Hannah’s room, and when I’d move things to the junk pile, she’d tell me: “Nooo! I need this, or I’ll dieeeee!” She may have been right, but we’ll never know.

As for me, I admit it: I have a giant stuffed animal – not a unicorn, but a bunny. My Nana bought an Easter dress for me, and after spending a certain amount at the department store, the bunny was less.  There were bunnies ALL over that store, and Nana was determined my brother and I needed one. My mama sacrificed and bought herself a new dress so Matt could get a bunny. Because I have the bunny Nana bought: I watched the clerk put it in the bag and made sure that one stayed with me. As it has: for over two decades.

Some people have body pillows; I have my bunny, and I believe he’s done wonders for keeping my back in alignment at night. Plus, he’s an awesome head prop while reading.

I love the sheer joy of the little girl in the moment. She doesn’t want the unicorn for practical purposes, for personal edification, for social betterment.  She wants it and LOVES it because it’s fluffy.

It’s time to find some more fluffy in my life. FLUFFY!

After college I worked in a library and *loved* it: not the organization or the mass amount of books, but being able to point people in a direction to find resources to help them in their journeys.  When I worked in the young adult section I often was asked point-blank questions: “What is the population of Idaho?” “What is the tenth decimal of pi?” “Why is the capitol barricaded?” (That had to do with the present governor’s strong belief that post-9/11 terrorists were attacking key places in America, like the head of the government in southern Idaho. Yeah).

My answer: “Hmm: well, let’s look at where we can get that answer.” Not always a pleasing response, but in the long run, the right answer: they were equipped, and I might have less questions asked of me.

One of my favorite parenting books, How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen and Listen So Your Kids Will Talk, gives four points for helping kids/mankind deal with their feelings (aka. what most of us spend most of our time doing): (HT)

1. Instead of half-listening, listen with full attention. It can be discouraging to try to get through to someone who gives only lip service to listening. It’s much easier to tell your troubles to a parent who is really listening. He doesn’t even have to say anything. Often a sympathetic silence is all a child needs.
2. Instead of questions and advice, acknowledge with a word — “Oh … Mmm … I see.” It’s hard for a child to think clearly or constructively when someone is questioning, blaming, or advising her. There’s a lot of help to be had from a simple “Oh … umm …” or “I see.” Words like these, coupled with a caring attitude, are invitations to a child to explore her own thoughts and feelings, and possibly come up with her own solutions.
3. Instead of denying the feeling, give the feeling a name. The child who hears the words for what he is experiencing is deeply comforted. Someone has acknowledged his inner experience. (“That sounds frustrating!”)
4. Instead of explanation and logic, give a child his wishes in fantasy. When children want something they can’t have, adults usually respond with logical explanations of why they can’t have it. Often the harder we explain, the harder they protest. Sometimes just having someone understand how much you want something makes reality easier to bear. (“I wish I could make the banana ripe for you right now!”)

The past five weeks in my Sunday class at our worship gathering I’ve been given another tool: The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. Instead of providing THE answer with the flannel graph, I’m learning how to create space for my kids to encounter God on their own, to enter into The Mystery, to ponder and wonder.  One of the key phrases the facilitators seem to end with is “Hmmm, that gives us a lot to wonder about.”

Yesterday during our afternoon park visit, I walked the path while my kids joined the masses running amuck.  This group was different, though: light sabres and really big guns seemed to be the main focus.  My boys were mesmerized.  My heart sank. “Ack! Guns: BAD! My babies!” But then I thought of my brother who maintains that his enjoyment of heavily militarized video games stems from the trauma of the de-gunning of his Leonardo Ninja Turtle as a tyke.

Boys will be boys.  But I cleave strongly to a peace testimony.  But the founders of my denomination declared they were part of the Lamb’s Army.  Ack!

Fortunately as I paced, and prayed, the phrase that came to mind was, “Hmm, this gives me a lot to wonder about.”

When I told the boys it was time to go home (because, honestly, I couldn’t bear much more of my oldest following the tall red-headed ring-leader), JJ burst into tears.  “But he wouldn’t share his gun with me!!” Me: “Oh, you’re sad.” JJ: “Yeah. Sniffle.” Abe: “I will ask Unca Matt for a light sabre or a gun for my birthday.  Because he will get it for me, and it will be awesome.”

Hmm. And sigh. Oh, the wonder. 

His face is a glimpse into a moment in time:  food, scabs, bruises, glitter …

Trying to look “normal”.

Or not.

Perhaps practicing his letter of the week from preschool?

I really don’t ask anymore:  just nod and accept, just nod and accept.

Either someone has a healthy self esteem or is the overlooked middle child:  not only taking self-portraits, but also pictures of himself.

Maybe the lack of pictures is do to all the activities we’ve been doing.  What they are, I can’t remember:  but we’ve got some tuckered-out little people around here (sleeping next to “the awesomest book, Mom!” It’s given the thumbs up by George Lucas:  obviously an important literary contribution to this generation).

Like Mama at this age, like Daughter.

Post-nap activity:  snuggles.

And smiles.

And demands for “when will the pizza be reaaaaaaaaddddddddddyyyyyyyy?!!!!!!!” We know how to party on a Friday night.

Three kids.  Two schools.  One husband.  We have yet to have two “normal” weeks in a row, which does not work for my pattern-finding self or routine-oriented children.  Correction:  JJ adapts, but oh the weeping and wailing of my middle child at not having school five days a week, or like this week, at all.  The Little Miss could care less, except when her mother can’t figure out what she wants (like to be fed) or that she’s capable of more movement than army-crawling (like dumping out the cat’s food this afternoon — twice).

I was listening to a podcast of an author discussing his latest book on George Washington.  The former president wrote in his will that all of his slaves were to be freed upon his death, which caused a problem because his wife brought a lot of slaves into the marriage, and they weren’t too hip with the idea of staying longer than the others.  My first thought, “What would you do with all those slaves?” and then, “Oh, wait …”

I’ve taken to making a number of items in our home as of late:  laundry detergent, yogurt, butter, preserving fruits and vegetables, bacon, etc.  The energy and time I could spend doing something else, like writing or speaking to another adult, is used providing healthy, local, happy things to consume.  Which is my choice to make/do.  But I don’t know that my mind naturally works that way, and so I feel like I’m constantly racing — to preserve the food before it goes bad, to make more soap before the laundry becomes the ‘dee’s new Mt. Hood.  And then I get grumpy:  I sure hate being grumpy.

So if my hubby can buy more memory for the computer, can’t the world come up with more memory for our minds?  That, or if someone wanted to move in and help me out:  I’d pay well in cookies:  that I rarely forget to make. 

But then a friend made a comment the other day:  “I miss your menu posts.”

What?  Someone reads this ol’ blog?  And they’re interested in what I have to say?  Like a neglected child who gets a glimmer of positive reinforcement, my inner blogger did a little twirl:  someone cares?!!  Then I should menu plan!  And post!  And after a life of family-visits, end-of-the-school-year-madness, surgery, recouping, rockin’-the-rec-at-VBS, trip-to-Kansas, soul-sucking-heat, I actually found time and space to plan out the munchies.

What cookbook are we planning from this time?  The Vegetarian Mother’s Cookbook.  Not that I’m a vegetarian intentionally.  It’s more that a) meat takes time to prepare, 2) wrongly prepared meat can cause death, iii) I’m lazy and would like not to kill off my family.  And, dairy and I are fast friends.  So I read vegetarian recipes:  plus, honestly, a lot of them are quick and easy and don’t deal with potential cross-contamination.

Sunday:  Breakfast at church before the outdoor worship (took store-purchased granola as my cereal offering – shocking for me not to bring a baked good – that’s how out of it I’ve been – and how non-stove-oriented – cause it’s hot – and we’re doing one-window-unit a/c – gotsta keeps the bebes cool!); Pb banana shake, sugar snap peas (from our CSA – love them!), whole wheat ritz with raw milk yogurt cheese; Whole wheat english muffin pizzas (with Trader Joe’s pizza sauce:  thanks for the recommendation, Ashlee!)

Monday:  Molasses toast, herby (CSA) scrambled eggs, cherries (CSA and our backyard); whole grain waffles, bananas, peanut butter; Veggie breakfast burrito, fruit salad

Tuesday:  Summer muesli, bananas; Tofu salad sandwich, chips, carrots, dried strawberries; Breakfast potatoes and veggies, scrambled eggs plus

Wednesday:  Almond butter orange sandwich; Bean quesadilla, chips, cherries; Scrambled tofu, almond pancakes w/homemade butter and homemade raspberry jam

Thursday:  Soaked apples’n'spice Bob’s Red Mill cereal, string cheese; Rice and beans casserole, chips, salsa, carrots; Tofu and udon noodles (known to the boys as peanut butter noodles, like the kind that beloved Miss Ashlee makes for her boys, cause tofu and udon is yuck, but who can say no to peanut butter noodles?!!), applesauce, snap peas

Friday:  Almond butter pancake sandwich, bananas; Curried rice salad, toasted cheese english muffins; Grilled chicken mango sausage, new potato and pea salad (Thanks, Mere!)

Saturday:  English muffin cheesecake, cherries; Black bean and sweet potato enchiladas, snap peas, homemade strawberry fruit leather; Potato kale quiche, fruit salad, garlic toast

It’s amazing to recognize the changes since I’ve last posted a menu.  I make a lot more stuff myself, or I get a lot more ingredients locally.   On Saturday a friend and I drove past the house I get eggs from which happens to be in the hills of Dundee.  My friend, who was driving, said, “So we turn around to get to your house?” to which I replied, “Oh no, there’s a back road.”  A back road that’s gravel with crazy amounts of small and large potholes, including a turn that drives you over really really loose gravel where it’s not so obvious where the tires of the car should or actually can go.  And yet their house is a mere few minutes away from my house which is firmly located in suburbia.  At times like that, after doing my weekly egg pickup, and as I hear my youngest littles babbling to hear their voices change as we bounce from pothole to pothole, I must admit: I really do love my life. 

JJ enters room, wearing a green long-sleeved shirt from the morning and shorts just a few shades bluer than the green shirt, close enough that the eyes naturally squint.  He’s holding a kleenex to his chin.

Mama:  “JJ, you’re wearing shorts.”

JJ:  “Yep.”

Mama:  “Why?”

JJ:  “Cause it was quiet time.”

Abe comes trundling in the room, wearing his swimming trunks and lacking a shirt, carrying a kleenex.

Mama:  “Abe, you’re wearing your swimming trunks.”

Abe:  “Mama, owie!  I gotta scratchie!”

Mama:  “You have a little scratch?”

Abe, trying to stand on one foot while holding the other up to show it off:  “SCRATCHIE!”

JJ:  “No, Mama, it’s a BIG scratch!”

Abe, smiling:  “I BLEEDING!!!”

JJ:  “He’s bleeding a lot!”

Abe:  “Yep!”  Puts both feet firmly on the floor and trundles off.

JJ’s kleenex was never explained.

And this darling face:

And this darling face:

And this darling face:

[I know, I know:  food shots of the boys, and a glamour shot of the girl?  Well, she's not so into that whole Eating Food Like Humans Do thing.  That is, until tonight when we figured she will not be *fed* but will feed herself.  Purees, shmurees:  smooshed bananas and homemade waffles for this little lady.  We'll see how she digs the French Peas tomorrow:  Mais, oui, Jean Claude, mais oui!].

I’m a lucky girl.

• buying milk from a local farmer
• making butter
• making yogurt
• in a food dehydrator
• reading about all the amazing things you can make in a food dehydrator
• the upcoming bounty of zucchini for this summer that I can turn into zucchini chips
• in my food dehydrator
• giving my husband a decent haircut
• a quart of raw, local honey
• reorganizing the toy closet
• pulling out the entertainment center and cleaning the nasty scary dusty muck that now has taken residence in my lungs
• seeing that the Star Wars Lego Dictionary will be coming to the library soon for my son
• and my son doesn’t know that I put a hold on the Star Wars Lego Dictionary, but boy howdy, will he be excited
• sock yarn
• mending the torn pages from the stack of accumulated books
• under-cabinetry kitchen lighting

Seriously.  How did I turn into a housemarm?

At least one thing on my excitement list was finishing reading my Civil War-era steampunk Seattle apocalypse/zombies book and beginning my upcoming selection of Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter.   Somehow I think these reads are bringing balance to my life …

All of them.

The *extended* versions.

Yes, he is that hard core.  Actually, it’s mostly that he’s friends with folks that are that hard core, and he likes to hang out with them.

A facebook event invite was sent out.  People rsvp’d.  The viewing local?  The social hall of the church (that’s what you get when the pastor is the event coordinator).  Sound and visuals taken care of by one of the church sound techs (something about upgrading projectors so it was blu-ray quality, even though the blu-ray editions won’t be released until April – duh).  Sound tech’s wife (our children’s pastor) set up the comfy chairs and padded pews for those with “sensitive” tooshies.  An area for non-chatters and an area for chatters designated.  My comment:  the only thing lacking was a person live-blogging the event.

Oh, and that other minor detail lacking:

CHILDCARE.

Today, I have been a Lord of the Rings widow, and I would like to say that I have triumphed!  It’s my first day feeding, dressing, shopping for, entertaining (thank you, Michelle, for hosting the widows – our own elven sanctuary), feeding, cleaning, napping, entertaining, feeding, cleaning, entertaining, bathing, feeding, reading to, cleaning, and putting to bed three tykes all by my lonesome.

It’s 9:43:  one tyke is is swaddled and snoring, the other two are “cuddling” under a sleeping bag (well, one has his midsection covered while the other has buried his head) on the top bunk bed.

I’d like to see a Melissa and Doug Responsibility Chart with all my duties, because they’re checked off, and I’d like my sticker now, pleaseandthankyou.

First, we wrap a Boo in a bunting from a GrandMom.  Yes, it’s big, but it’s pretty and fuzzy and red and from Nordstrom’s (I think).

Then we voyage outside:  yes, the bunting has ears.

Oooh, all pretty and white.  We watch as the professionals take to the field.

They survey the territory, assess the situation, take in all the details.

Cold.  Wet.  White.  Yep, it’s snow.

The girls hang by the sidelines, letting the experts get to work.

We make do with snow gear:  pockets are used to dethaw hands.

Time to get to work:  man making.  Small man of snow making, because the women-folk were inside whipping up something yummy and warm.

Watching the mama do her thing in the kitchen.

Pope Boo?

Whatchu giggling at, woman?

No more pictures, Mamarazzi!

When the Menfolk were done with their heavy lifting, they came in to defrost with some made-from-scratch hot cocoa (dude, the IKEA frother thingie is *awesome*).  Oh, and pjs, and later breakfast for dinner, cause that’s how we swing around here.

Making Giant Pancakes for dinner:  a logical choice to match the giant pancake snowflakes.

Some wondered where their hot cocoa goodness was:  all in good time, Little Miss, all in good time.

Some snow bunnies passed out during dinner time.  Literally.

The ferocious snow kitten monitored the situation from his command center.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we deal with snow.