The Battle of the Ozarks

 We've been studying the Norman Conquest over the last few weeks, so we decided to make our own Bayeux Tapestry. I guess it will have to be called something else, but we haven't decided on a name yet.

This tapestry chronicles our journey to Branson last September. Perhaps it doesn't have quite the overwhelming significance of the Battle of Hastings, but it was memorable and involved more than just horses and thrones, so I think we can hold our own.

Our medium was fabric and paint rather than delicate, detailed embroidery. Oh, and we wrote in English instead of Latin. Otherwise it's about the same. You know, aside from the skill and time involved. Oh, and that historical significance thing.

Here is your brief tour.

Day one, we left in the afternoon and trekked across the hills and forests to our hotel. The swimming pool was extremely critical to the success of the venture, so it figures prominently.

The next day was our trip to Silver Dollar City, which has been previously documented. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Zaya was the one who chose to draw a roller coaster, and Mim chose Marvel cave.

 On the third day we wanted to spend as little money as possible while still being on vacation. Well, I say "we", I think we know that's not entirely true. It was a wise decision, though. We went to see the Shepherd of the Hills Fish Hatchery, which had much more than four fish in it. Those are simply example fish. We also hiked a long, winding, nay, eternal trail at Table Rock Lake. I don't know who measured that trail for the map, but they can't possibly have been right in their estimate. Either that or they weren't traveling with young children.

We rounded that day out with a little mini-golf, where we learned fun lessons like "An athletic, 31-year-old man is going to be a better player than a small, 7-year-old girl." and "Hitting the ball as hard as you can is not often your best strategy for putts."

 On Sunday we found a local church to visit, which we loved. It was an Evangelical Free church, and everyone was so friendly.  We drove on to Springfield for lunch and let the kids play for a while in the Greene/Close Memorial Park. They also had a Butterfly Garden which was lots of fun. The Japanese garden is beautiful, or so we've heard. They wouldn't let us in because we didn't have any cash on us, and didn't really want to walk all the way back across the park complex to dig it out of the van. No, I'm not bitter.

So our tapestry may never be found in a museum, but it made it to the wall in the hall, which is a pretty high honor. I know the details are a bit fuzzy, for instance, the Harvest E.F. church was a large brown brick building of fairly modern design; not exactly the gray, tall-steepled country church you see pictured here, but then I'm pretty sure that Harold the Unfortunate didn't actually look like this:

B-cells Say "Burble"

Tonight Zaya is a white blood cell.  He came to visit me in the heart (I was a cardiac muscle) and handed me an imaginary business card that said, "Zaya - B cell."

 He was being called up to "Lymph Node #26" but before he left, he gave me some antibodies to use if I should need them later. He then raced on his way with his trusty ribosome (otherwise known as Crimson, the plush dragon) and his plush white blood cell.

He is currently up in the U.S.S. Bedlam waging war on an invading micro-organism. He informed me that he is the artillery, and the T-cells and macrophages are the infantry. I'll be honest, I'm nervous for the little guy. White blood cells so often have to give their life in the struggle.

On a related note - did you know that white blood cells say "burble?" Well, plush ones do anyway; at least, they have for the last couple weeks. Dragons (and ribosomes) say "meep". I may be the only mother in the U.S. tonight who was kissed good night by two white blood cells and a ribosome, and then heard the phrase "I sure wish someone would make a plush mitochondria!"

Don't we all, sweetheart, don't we all.

You Never Know

Bedtime on the U.S.S. Bedlam (Zaya has named his bed.)

"Mom, do you want to come snuggle with me? I'm a stem cell."

"Umm...Sure."

I climbed up onto his loft bed and he handed me an extra blanket.

"Here's your cell membrane. Crimson made it. He's a ribosome."

(Crimson is his stuffed dragon and best friend.)

"Do ribosomes make cell membranes?" I asked, because I frankly have no clue.

"Well, he made the amino acids."

Then followed a discussion about mitochondria that I didn't quite follow. 

Finally I said, "Fair enough. Ok, so if you're a stem cell, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Well, I want to be a white blood cell."

"Oh, a hero, eh?"

"Yes."

"You realize that you might have to give your life for the cause if you become a white blood cell."

"Yes. That's OK. Oh, or I could be an osteoblast. Then I'd also be a hero."

"True."

A litte silence, then..."POP!"

"I've traveled into the blood stream. They need me and I've been called up."

"What are you?" As I'm climbing back down from the loft bed and heading out of the room.

"I'm an osteoblast."

"Oh, so the body has broken a bone."

"Yep."

He came into my room a few moments later claiming he needed something that involved an acronym for something that I suppose an osteoblast uses. I'm ashamed to say that I don't even know what it was. He got a drink of water and meandered back through the room.

"Back when I was a stem cell, I divided and my other half became a white blood cell. So I got both my wishes."

Now he's lying on his bed talking animatedly to his stuffed dragon, who I can only assume is still a ribosome.

When people ask me what I'm teaching my son for science, I just have to laugh. If only I knew!

Get the Man Some Air!

Saturday morning we went to the company children's Christmas party at my husband's place of employment. They opened the large building, optimistically called the Club House, and quite a few families came together to let the littles have some fun.

The kids enjoyed Christmas cookies and Hawaiian Punch, then stood in line for a balloon animal from the clowns who made balloon animals. Because, you know, nothing says Christmas like high-fructose corn syrup, red dye #40 and...clowns.

They handed Mim a "hummingbird" that one of them was already holding. Not wanting to cause trouble, she just took it, although she really wanted something else, like the bow and arrow that Zaya requested. His did take a very long time to make. Someone was probably cursing under their breath as they tied that particular creation, but we didn't hear anything, so it's all good.

The company had purchased gifts for all the children, which was a very generous and kind thing to do. To receive these gifts, though, we had to go through the line and sit on Santa's lap. My children have never done this before. Not because I've ever consciously decided to avoid the situation, but because it's just never really come up.

We've never done the whole Santa/Reindeer/Ho Ho Ho thing at our house, so the kids were underwhelmed and a tiny bit annoyed that they had to go along with the whole stitch-up to get presents. Of course, they could've taken a principled stand against it and not opened gifts, but it appears that their feelings were not so wounded that they weren't willing to accept free toys.

Both items were big hits, by the way. I applaud whoever made the choices for the various age designations. My friend, whose five year old daughter received her very first bikini-clad Barbie, may not quite agree.













Anyway, we were all sitting to enjoy our conversations and gifts when a little buzz started being passed almost telepathically from mother to mother throughout the large open building.

"Get the kids outside! Quick! Out to the playground! Santa's down!"

We all calmly got up, pretending that we suddenly couldn't resist the warm sunshine any longer.

"Hey kids! Let's go play on the playground! Look how nice it is outside!"

We all trooped out with the little ones, the building clearing of any human under five feet tall in the blink of an eye. A line of grown-ups stood up near the tree and chairs at the back of the building, hiding the red-suited mound of Santa, who had passed out. Apparently Santa had dressed for the Arctic North, rather than Southern Missouri.

Everything was fine. Within a few minutes he was up and feeling better, and I heard quite a few men vowing that their co-worker, who had so kindly agreed to be St. Nick for the day, would never, ever hear the end of it. A bare minimum of children were scarred by seeing one of their favorite people out cold on a concrete floor, so the day was decreed a success and we scattered out to our homes.

What's That Smell?

Since we were traveling through OKC, and had a little time to spare, we stopped at our favorite Asian market. It's called Super Cao Nguyen, and it is so much fun! The smell is a little overwhelming at first, but we love it now.

The kids took a big sniff as soon as we walked in the front doors and said, "Ahh! Smells like the Asian market." I think the smell is a mix of incense, large open cabinets of raw meat and fish, and the incredible variety of unfamiliar fruits and veggies. Regardless, it's wonderful and unique.

I always spend too much at Super Cao because there are so many fun, new things to try. This time we bought several different flavors of roasted seaweed snacks on our continuing quest to find our favorite. So far, this is it.

Zaya has been begging me to let him buy some form of Durian for a long time. He knows it is generally considered nasty to the western palate, but can't resist trying. It's the Y chromosome, I think. Here was his selection, I told him to make the face he thought he might make after he tasted it. So far, the closest we've gotten is sniffing it from a tiny hole in the corner of the bag.

Both kids love looking at the fish. There are a lot of them just lying out on the ice, and quite a few fish and crustaceans live in tanks as well. Mim is pointing to the bloody eyeball socket of a Buffalo Fish.

We used moderation for this trip, since all the purchases would have to fit in a van that was already overloaded from our week-and-a-half long trip to Oklahoma and some Christmas shopping. I did restock my supply of sweet soy sauce and tom yum paste. I would recommend both for anyone who would like to ease themselves into making stir fry and/or soups a little more fun.

Funtimes with Grammar

This would be why it takes Zaya forever to finish work that he can do in his sleep. We have to make the jokes.

In case you can't tell, and I certainly don't blame you for needing a translation, the article "an" is wearing a bandana, because he's in disguise as an adjective. Edible says, "He's an adjective." and An says, "No, I'm not!"

In this one, the (you) is being "understood" by the verb Make. Why? Only Zaya knows.

He hasn't quite figured out that when we make with the joke-time, school takes forever. Maybe it makes it easier to bear as well, though, so why not give him his funnies?

Light up a Twizzler

A new building has gone up in town, fairly close to our home. We've been watching to see which stores might move in, but without high hopes, since it's a small and rather boring-looking structure. Sure enough, the first sign to go up over a doorway was "Smokeshop and Liquor."

This is literally one building away from another store which is also called "Smokeshop and Liquor." Either the store is relocating, or this town has much more serious lung and liver conditions than I first suspected.

Either way, the whole idea is a bit of a mystery to the kids. They know what smoking is, sort of, but don't actually know anyone who smokes. (Haven't things changed in the last 20 years or so!) Zaya is sort of vaguely aware that liquor means the same thing as alcohol, which means the same thing as "something we don't drink because it's bad for your body and your ethics."

I hadn't realized, though, how vague Mim's idea of liquor was until yesterday when she told us, "Look! There's a truck out outside the Smoke and Licorice shop!"

That explains why she hasn't been as annoyed as we were to see the sign in the first place.

It's Elementary...or it Ought to Be.

Every child is unique. I realize this, and feel very blessed that I have the children I do. They are great kids.

That being said, they are not without their issues. Zaya's particular difficulties were brought to mind recently when we made a trip back home to see family.

See, here's Zaya's problem. He inherited his father's unconcern with what people think of him. Within reason, neither my husband nor my son are too fussed with making a good impression, or caring whether or not they are universally loved. Fortunately for Art, he also is fairly shy and introverted, which means that people don't know about his lack of concern for their opinion, because he keeps his mouth shut. If that was all Zaya had inherited, then he would have the same charmed life that his father has.

Unfortunately, Zaya also inherited my mouth. We talk a lot, or more correctly, we talk to fill in gaps, or just to announce something to the world. The difference is that I care intensely what other people think about me (and, by extension, my children and husband), so most of what I say in a public setting is wearing the "don't offend people" filter. Even with my filter, I frequently say things that make me wince when I remember them, but at least I realize that what I said sounded stupid or rude.

Zaya, therefore, has his daddy's chill, nothing-much-bothers-me attitude, combined with his mommy's big mouth, so things like this happen:

At our homeschool co-op, Zaya raises his hand and asks the choir teacher (who is a super-sweet, funny lady, and an excellent music teacher) if she could play more accurately when giving the kids their accompaniment. Yeah. In front of the entire class of 3rd-10th graders. Of course, he gets told to play more accurately on the piano all the time, because he's a little kid in piano lessons, but he had absolutely no clue that it might hurt a grown-up's feelings. Grown-ups are invincible, right?

Which brings me to our visit back home. Zaya walks up to one of my aunts, someone he's seen at least once a year since he was born, and asks her who she is. He doesn't explain, as I would've if I'd been in on the conversation, that he always confuses her for the other aunt whose name starts with the same letter. No. He just walks up and asks her who she is, as if he's never seen her before in his life.

His sister, who has her father's sense to keep her mouth shut, and her mother's concern about what other people think, was appalled when we discussed it later in the car. She proceeded to tell him exactly who that aunt was, down to what her house looked like and the name of her dog. Really. She is his Watson. (The Martin Freeman kind, not the Nigel Bruce kind.)

Meanwhile, Zaya still can't figure out why it wasn't a good thing to say. He wanted to know who she was. He couldn't remember. Why shouldn't he just ask? I tried to tell him to ask me or Grandma Lilibeth next time he's unsure of his great-aunts, but I have no hope of his remembering that it isn't socially acceptable to let loved ones know that you are confused about their identity.

And then he told one of our best friends that her baby was "finally starting to look cute." What!? Her baby has been adorable from day one; he even has a picture of said baby on his cabinet and talks about how cute he is. Who says things like that?!? Luckily, it was someone who has known Zaya well since birth, and knows that he is just a tiny bit of a crossover between Sheldon and Sherlock. Except, you know, moral. And without the ability to notice the world around him.

Maybe I should just stop caring what people think, since he is so oblivious to it himself, but I can't do that as a mommy. I still care, even if he doesn't. All that to say, if you see Zaya in the future, and he says something that sounds a touch sociopathic, please understand that if you said the exact same thing to him, it probably wouldn't bother him in the slightest, and, as soon as they know about it, his mother and sister will be mortified. Perhaps that will make up for the shock of the moment.

Treats Take Two

Last night's treats were a bit underwhelming, and since our plans for today fell through, Mim and Zaya decided that we should give it all another go.

Our town has a little event where kids do a march around the downtown square, and the business owners sit outside their respective doorways with buckets of candy. There were literally hundreds of people. Some of the other costumes were...interesting. Yeah, let's just leave it there.

Zaya continued with his IRS auditor outfit. It was a great success last night, and he decided not to mess with a good thing. He was even more popular today. We especially liked the reactions at the banks and H. & R. Block. For some reason they were extra sensitive.

Mim's Theodora outfit had hot cocoa on it, and she decided to go with something a little more well known. Today she was Nancy Drew, one of her new favorite characters. It was much more successful if the reactions of other people is how we're measuring success. (And apparently, that is exactly how we're measuring.)

Zaya was told several times that his was certainly the scariest costume, which thrilled his heart. Mim met several ladies who gave her nostalgic smiles and told her they loved Nancy Drew, which thrilled hers, and I heard a few people tell me that we obviously put serious thought and planning into the costumes. They were actually thrown together from things we already had around the house, so I decided to take that as a compliment. In reality, it's a compliment to the training I received from my mother.

They each came home with a bag full of candy. They promptly poured it all out on the kitchen floor and began sorting.

Mim's piles were a little more specific.

They each had a few Ziploc bags full when it was all finished. Zaya's categories were "bags that contain multiple pieces, chocolate and chewy, lollipops and other."

Mim filled three bags, and then hid them in her doll bed. No, they are not going to stay there.

This evening Mim sat in front of our house with a large bowl of candy. We didn't have one single visitor, so Mim used candy to alleviate her boredom. This is what she does. She builds things and stacks things.

And now, Mommy has her own gigantic bowl full of candy. If you listen very carefully, you can hear the sound of my voice tonight chanting to myself, "moderation, moderation, moderation."

Treat or Treat

I took the kids to the "big church" here in our town. They had a Trunk or Treat night with games and free food. (The "trunk" part consisted of three cars with a little candy in the trunk.) Since the kids really wanted to wear costumes this year, but I'm not too crazy about the whole holiday, this seemed like a reasonable compromise.

They ate hot dogs, popcorn, and candy, and drank lemonade and some tongue-scalding cocoa. There were really a surprisingly small number of games/booths for the size of that church, but I'm not complaining. It was free and safe and open to the entire community.

Mim dressed up as Empress Theodora, wife of Justinian of the Byzantine Empire.

She was quite annoyed that no one commented on her costume. She hasn't learned that unless you're wearing a label or a very famous superhero costume, people don't really know who you are. I told her she should just say, "Hi. I'm Theodora." She wasn't interested in that solution. Next year I'll just make her a nametag with Byzantine decor.

Zaya wanted to be an IRS auditor.

 He's been planning this all year. Since he had a tag with his profession on it, people commented on his costume. He carried around a clipboard and asked people to write their names and incomes for last year. Oddly enough, no one was interested in writing down their actual incomes. We got a lot of "not enough" or "too little."

I dressed up too. Sort of. I'm an off-duty FBI agent. Okay, so maybe I just pulled a jacket out of the closet and got a pair of old sunglasses. It counts though, right? I'm holding the Book of Secrets, so I even had a prop.

Aaron dressed up as an introvert. That is, he stayed home and worked on his cement stuff out back. I've been married long enough that I didn't for a moment assume he would be going with us. Crowds of people and social situations are not his cup of tea. Or hot chocolate, as the case may be.

Back In My Day...

I am in the process of introducing our children's church kids to the delights of old-school flannel-graph. I tried the round-the-table Sunday school approach that they had been using, but it just didn't work for me.

They now sit in neat little rows. We sing songs like "Grow, Grow, Grow", "Jesus Loves Me", and "One Door and Only One." Oh, and we use the flannel-graph. So far the kids love it.

"Ms. Cari! Are we going to use the little pictures that stick on the boards again?"

"Yes, yes we are."

Are they learning more? I don't know. I haven't quizzed them. I do know they recognize backgrounds when I re-use them. I was using some great, borrowed CEF books, but there were too many pieces missing to go any longer with them, and I asked the church if they would consent to my finding a full set of flannel-graph. We now have a set that includes all the pieces for 128 Bible stories, 3 big backdrops, extra scenery, a disc of coloring and activity sheets, and a big book with all the stories.

So, what does that mean for my Saturdays for the foreseeable future? It means my scissors will be a little more dull, my back will ache a little more, and it means my bedroom will have things like this in it.

Those are scraps from a mere 3 of the ten-odd sheets of felt pieces.

Here is a small part of the set on my bed. (Yes, I have a lot of pillows. I realize this. Yes, my spouse complains.)

Here's the top page in one of the file boxes. As you can see, it's the Jesus page. Mim walked over there and said,

"Mom, do you think they're all talking to each other?"

If they are, it's probably to mention my bad cutting skills, but we know He's forgiving, so I'm sure it'll be alright. Besides, I'll go back around each piece in detail when it's time for each story. Really! I will! This is just for now!

It'll be a few weeks before I can get started using the new pieces, but I'm looking forward to it. It's amazing how much better behaved the children are when they have something bright and shiny to look at. I'd better be careful or Pastor Bill will be asking for them!

A Moment of Academia. Sort Of.

Here are my two children as defined by the exceptions to their normal rules. In general, Zaya doesn't read fiction, and Mim reads only fiction. However, they each have their own areas where they're willing to concede that the other might have merit.

Zaya is reading H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds, and explaining to me how the gravity and atmosphere of our planet would destroy the aliens.

Mim is reading Our Century in Pictures, published by Life magazine. If I'm in the room, she asks me about every other picture, and particularly any picture involving a dead body.

So, this might be a bit controversial, but it's one of those things that sort of happened. Zaya is a bit obsessed with alien races and there isn't a lot of information available in his science books on them. Mim loves to hear about the past, and what man has done to man.

My rationale (particularly for Mim) thus far has been as follows:

There are millions of children in this world for whom death is familiar and life-changing. There are children who suffered through the holocaust, the purges in Russia, the genocide of Rwanda...the list goes on and on. If those children can experience actual tragedy, and overcome, my child can handle hearing about it, and even seeing pictures. I believe she will be a stronger and more compassionate person for it.

If later therapy proves me wrong, so be it.

Poor Little Pony

Mim: Mom, I want a pony.

Me: That's not happening. (I believe in letting them down easily.) When you are old enough to own your own place, then you can get one. Not before.

Mim: No. I want one now, not when I'm grown.

Me: (raised eyebrow) Oh really.

Mim: Yes, because when I'm older I won't want to do this. I want to get a pony and spray paint it to look like Twilight Sparkle. (pictured above)

I argued that the fact that she won't want to do it when she's older and wiser should give her pause, but her only response was

"Do you want to paint a pony?"

"No"

"There. That's why I should do it now."

I don't think she gets it....or maybe I don't.

Take a Deep Breath

Mim and Zaya caught their first fall cold. Of course, this falls right at the time we go back home to visit family, which means snuggling with babies and great-grandparents and others who might be immune-compromised. My sincerest apologies to anyone that hugged my children and received Rhinovirus in return.

It also happens to coincide with our having run out of Singulair. This is one of the medicines Zaya takes every night so that his asthma doesn't flair up when he gets a cold. We ran out of Singulair because we've used all the refills, and I didn't realize that until I called the pharmacy the day he took his last pill. So yeah, it's mostly my fault.

 I called his doctor to get a re-fill, and he happened to be on vacation all last week. So I called again today, now that we're home from our trip, and it turns out our doctor isn't in on Tuesdays. Of course he isn't. It was ridiculous, really, for me to think he would be.

So Zaya has started his wheezing. We pull out the inhaler, and dig the nasty-tasting liquid steroids out of the cabinet, and I thank God, once again, that he gave the one with allergies and asthma the most laid-back, take-it-as-it-comes personality on the planet.

I'll Never Talk

I don't think anyone would say they love going to the dentist. Well, I should qualify that by saying I don't know any adults who would say that. My children still love going to the dentist. I think this is mostly due to the bag of cool dental hygiene supplies that they get when they're finished. Oh, and the fact that they haven't had any cavities, thus, no pain.

I get a bag of cool dental hygiene supplies as well, but it doesn't make up for the pain and humiliation of sitting in that ugly, brown chair in the first place.

Maybe I'm just in a bad mood because they found another cavity, but I think it's mostly because a woman whose ancestors may have been involved in the fall of Rome was cleaning my teeth. Now don't get me wrong, she's a sweet lady, I'm sure, but in what other part of our life is it OK to let people we don't know jab sharp metal objects into our gums? Nowhere. That's the answer.

Yet I found myself lying back on a plastic chair while my teeth were "cleaned", and my mind flashed back to the few super-spy torture scenes I've witnessed on the telly. You know the ones. The spy refuses to give information, so the evil and usually deformed henchman unrolls a set of dirty metal tools. (I don't know what happens after that because I close my eyes and hold my ears.)

 My particular interrogator was not deformed, in fact, I'm sure she was lovely and kind, but she hummed non-stop while she worked. I think it was supposed to be comforting, but remember that in my mind I'm James Bond being questioned by Dr. Death. The humming made it all one degree creepier.

And isn't it so much fun when they find that one little cavity, and then decide to dig around on it a while just to make sure? Again, think torturer. The woman enjoyed it, and no one will convince me otherwise.

At one point there were four different pieces of equipment in my mouth, plus the fingers of two dental hygenists. All I could think of was the Far Side cartoon pictured above. I started to laugh, and the ladies thought I was choking. They stopped for a second, looking confused, and I told them, "Ladies, there's only so much you can fit in there." They gave me a weird look I always get when I go out in public, and went right back to what they were doing.

I walked out with a forced smile, two reminder cards for a filling and my next cleaning, a mouth rinse made primarily from wheat-grass juice, and all the free loot I could grab on the way out of the office. Maybe it was petty, but I'm not going to let evil triumph. Maybe that 2013 pocket calender is really part of their plan for world domination. Maybe it was all worth it. Or maybe they were only getting started.

Project Improv

It turns out I sew the same way I cook. Which is to say, I compile tons of ideas and patterns and books, then I just make up my own things and completely ignore all the advice.

We made a cloak for our history project. It will have little Fleur-de-lis on it sometime in the near future. (Made with foam cut-outs and paint.) I have tons of instructions and patterns around for cloaks. I didn't use any of them. In fact, I didn't even iron the material or use any kind of measuring device at any point in the proceedings.

I realize one should not attempt to "eyeball it" until one has some degree of competence, but let's face it. If it's going to be a huge ordeal and take a lot of time and effort, it'll never get done. Instead, I bought a scrap of fabric and started making stuff up.

Zaya helped thread the tie through, and Mim sewed a few of the stitches.

I had her pose for this picture after we had started to clean-up, hence the lack of fabric and thread in the machine.

It won't stand up to close scrutiny by a professional, but it'll work for a couple of hyper, costume wearing kids who can't hold still for more than two minutes together. If it's always in motion, who's to know?

I'd like to say that I'll someday do everything just the way it should be done...but...I try not to lie. The most important thing is that it is actually finished, and the kids don't care if I evened up all the seams.

Monster Stomping

We had a little family game night here on Friday evening. We pulled out Munchkin, which was a Christmas gift of Art's last year. (Yes, some of the cards were removed and thrown away before the game commenced.)

Even though Zaya was wearing his Buckler of Swashing, and Art was sitting at level 9 for three or four rounds, it was Mim who was the first to level ten. This may have had something to do with my helping her defeat the final monster. (I gave her my Cotion of Ponfusion.)


What can I say? Mama doesn't like games that go on and on and on.... Besides, it was bath-time, and after bath-time comes bedtime, and when the children are sleeping I can officially congratulate myself on another day successfully completed.

My definition of success is that my family members are still alive and mostly unharmed, and nothing major in the house was destroyed. Keeping your expectations low is vital to keeping your sanity as a mommy. That's my theory anyway.

 Another free parenting tip - the kids can put whatever they want on their popcorn. Why not? I may think it sounds disgusting, but they enjoy the illusion of freedom, and no one is harmed. That is why Mim has a container of chili flavored lime-salt and a small bottle of pink cake sugar. Something that would be considered cruel and unusual in any civilized court of law can be exciting and delicious to a seven-year-old.

Living on the Edge

We went to Branson last weekend, and the kids (and I) experienced Silver Dollar City for the first time. Since they had never been to an amusement park before, it was a real toss up as to whether or not they would enjoy the rides. It turns out they were divided. One loved the roller coasters, one absolutely did not.

Here's your first clue as to which one is which.

The one hugging the rail and crying is the one who spent the day walking and window shopping with Mommy. The one sitting back with the big grin went on every roller coaster in the park. Some of them three and four times.

This is the face of a risk-taker.

This is not.

This ride is called Wildfire.

Art and Zaya rode it four times. Four times. Why? You'll have to ask them, because I wasn't even tempted to try it once. I don't see how pants-wetting terror is an enjoyable feeling, or can be labeled "fun", but apparently there are enough people who feel otherwise that it's worth it to the park to have quite a few roller coasters (and they're building another that the boys are excited about).

Mim and I had a great time as well, but our fun was just a little more peaceful and tummy-friendly. We bought gifts for Zaya and new cousin Edison, a few postcards for writing practice, candy from the sweet shop, and Mim did find a fun house that she loved. It made me dizzy, so by the end of the day she and Zaya (we had caught back up with the boys and she wanted to show it to him) went through it by themselves while I watched. Oh, and there was a river ride that was tame enough to tempt her, and received a two thumbs up from the little critic.

We definitely plan to go back someday, and this time we'll know from the beginning to split up and meet for lunch.

Ponyitis

Mim has suddenly developed an interest in My Little Pony. It's a little bit like a virus. Once the child is exposed to it, you discover whether or not they have an immunity. I believe she will recover, which means her system is strong, but she couldn't completely fight it away. I suppose letting her spend her money on a Pony (oh, and then buying her one for her birthday) didn't help. What can I say? "Mommy" is just another word for "enabler."


She has also started fixing hair. Not her own, mind you, because that would be fantastic and Mom would be thrilled. No, it's mostly the Ponies' hair that gets treatment. Usually it's brushed smooth and lovely, but she's discovered the wonders of hair spray as well.

At least she'll be prepared for a career in equine grooming if this whole homeschool thing doesn't work out. They'll have to be punk horses, though, because this child likes some bright colors.

A Day in Our Lives

We have no average days here in our home-school. By that, I am not referring to the emotional state of either teacher or pupils, but rather to the fact that I am allergic to routine. Like so many allergies, it is not something I wake up planning, but rather something that simply happens to me as I encounter the world on a moment by moment basis. I will give you yesterday as an example.

My ideal is to have school started by eight o' clock, but that usually varies by 15 to 30 minutes either side of eight. Yesterday we didn't get started until 8:45. I don't honestly remember why; it just didn't happen. I think I had one or the other of the kids doing their piano, and then they were playing nicely together and I just didn't have the heart to make them stop.

Once we finally got started, things moved along fairly quickly. I won't bore you with details of our lessons. If you want to know how and what we're doing, just ask me someday and I will ramble for hours, alternately whining, bragging, and generally making a nuisance of myself. Periodically, we would stop lessons for snacks or a little break, but we were all but done by lunch time.

I received a message from a friend of mine who lives a few miles out of town. She and her daughters were canning peaches and wanted to know if we'd like to be involved. Of course we would; so we fed Daddy lunch, then drove out to the S farm. The kids ran around outside with the youngest members of this large family, and we ladies stayed inside and canned peaches. So far this month I have also canned pizza sauce and applesauce with this family. They teach me to can and I give two of the older girls Spanish class. It's a great trade.

When we got home, the kids wanted to swim. Our local YMCA has a pool, but it's a little too cold for Mama. Luckily, Daddy can be easily bought by the big, pleading eyes of his seven-year-old daughter, so he took the kids to the Y for a swim. I took advantage of their absence to buy my groceries for the day. I don't have to tell any mother how nice it is to go buy groceries when the kids are not hanging on the sides, demanding the right to push the cart (even though it's so heavy that they are a public danger) and begging for everything in sight. Oh, and let's not forget the critique of whatever I choose to put in the cart and the apparently uncontrollable need to touch EVERYTHING.

I got home and was able to put my groceries away in complete peace. Ahhh. I started making supper, but the Salmon was still very frozen, so by the time everyone was ready to eat, the rice was done and had been for a bit, but the Salmon, while smelling wonderful, was a good thirty minutes away from completion. Instead, we had re-heated fish sticks with our rice. The Salmon became leftovers before it had really had a chance. I planned Salmon, we ended up with microwave fish sticks. I will not be one of those mothers whose kids brag about her cooking.

When supper was over, it was time to get ready for bed. After baths and teeth brushing we all sat down for devotions. We're working our way through the Chronicles of Narnia, and last night was the very last chapter of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Some of the things we did yesterday are done more or less every day. Some of them happen only every great once in a while, or even never before. All that to say, every day is an adventure; today will be completely different, but just as fun, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.