"We never learned to drive on icy roads."
"Nope, just good roads."
"And just slowly and carefully."
"I dreamed that we were staying with Sharon and Sharol, and Daddy told them to drive safely because it was bad roads, but they just zoomed anyway."
"Was it fun?"
"Yes. It was. But kind of scary, too."
"I know who Lana's grandkids are. The Nelsons. Kjerstin and Kehan, Ashlyn, Ellie, and Eli."
"And Maddie. Maddie are her grandkids, too."
"Is. Maddie is her grandkid."
"But Maddie has that baby, too. Malaya. So it's are. They are her grandkids."
"But you can't say Maddie are. You have to say Maddie and Malaya are. Or Maddie is."
"Mo-om, Maddie and Malaya are Lana's Grandkids, too, right?"
Mom steps in her for a moment, "Yes, they are. Brad and Lana are blessed with many grandkids."
"Yawning doesn't mean you're tired. Sometimes it just means you need to stretch."
"Yeah, one time I yawned when I didn't want to sleep."
"Remember when Dad made us stay in our room because we were crabby. And I fell asleep, but you didn't?"
"Yes. I never fall asleep in the day."
"I sometimes do."
"When Quinn came over, you were sleeping when we got home from school."
"And we watched Frozen."
"Except you didn't see it all because you were sleeping."
"But I got up and had a snack and then watched it. Quinn loves Frozen."
"She likes Anna. I like Elsa better. I like Elsa because she's pretty. But I like Anna because she is good."
"Elsa has purple eyelids."
"Purple eyelids!?!"
"Yes, because that's how she does her makeup."
Showing posts with label through the eyes of children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label through the eyes of children. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Learning to forgive
Inge and Donna both have the flu. Not the stomach variety, but the influenza. The fever, aches, chest congestion, painful cough.
Inge: I don't want to play Outburst Junior. It's not fun for me.
Donna: I won't play with you if you don't play with me first.
Inge: Weeeeelllll, we could go outside first and then decide.
Donna: Ok. Well, no, I'm too tired to go outside.
Inge: I remember last, last, last year when you locked me outside in the winter.
theMom jumps in: You shouldn't remember things like that. You need to forgive Donna, and then don't think about it anymore.
Donna: You can't forget things you try to. The more you try to forget, the more you remember.
theMom: But you can forgive, so that it doesn't feel so angry in your heart.
Inge: Maybe that's why my head and throat hurt so much.
Inge: I don't want to play Outburst Junior. It's not fun for me.
Donna: I won't play with you if you don't play with me first.
Inge: Weeeeelllll, we could go outside first and then decide.
Donna: Ok. Well, no, I'm too tired to go outside.
Inge: I remember last, last, last year when you locked me outside in the winter.
theMom jumps in: You shouldn't remember things like that. You need to forgive Donna, and then don't think about it anymore.
Donna: You can't forget things you try to. The more you try to forget, the more you remember.
theMom: But you can forgive, so that it doesn't feel so angry in your heart.
Inge: Maybe that's why my head and throat hurt so much.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
It's a Beautiful Imagination!
"I'll play slapjack with you."
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends. See?" Donna pointed to a black dog beanie baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically. Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."
Donna is without younger siblings today, since Joe took the other three littles along to his parents' house to attend a cousin's funeral.
I was left here with Clara, Sophie, and Donna. Matt is at his two week annual training for the Marine Corps. Louisa and Elsie are working nights; so they sleep all day. It's kind of like a vacation for me.
I was not sure, though, how Donna would do without any other littles. My kids have never had to be alone, to find things to do to occupy themselves on their own.
But I needn't have worried with Donna. She came out first thing on this gloomy rainy morning, dressed in one of the princess dresses. She had a little beanie baby friend and a tail. A black fur piece of tail from some preserved animal pelt. She held up the tail and showed me the "ears" and the "nose." And introduced me to Lillian.
Then she proceded to enact all sorts of stories with these friends. After many other adventures, "they" decided to play slap jack.
Alyssa won.
Donna showed me several times throughout the game how thick Alyssa's pile of cards was growing. She had me look to see how eagerly Alyssa jumped onto the card pile when a jack came up.
Poor Lillian just couldn't compete. She lay lazily off to the side and did not seem altogether engaged in the game.
Eventually Sophie finished the drawing she was doing nearby. Apparently She felt bad for Donna having to play slap jack alone, as Sophie naively thought. And so Sophie offered to play with Donna.
"I'll play slapjack with you."
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends. See?" Donna pointed to a black dog beany baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically. Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."
Sophie was very patient and kindly played with Donna. And her two friends. At some point Sophie and Donna decided it would make the game go a little better if each of them "acted" one of the friends. Apparently Donna had a few extra rules with which Sophie was unfamiliar, because I heard the following interchange:
"What kind of rules do you have? I've never played with these rules."
"They're the Poptropica rules."
Hmmm.
I got a phone call, and had to leave the room. But when I returned, Sophie was gone. But Donna, Alyssa, and Lillian were still playing cards. This time Go-fish. It's so fun to watch her asking her friends if they have one or another card, and then she looks at their cards and answers. And in turn, she asks on behalf of one of the others for some card the friend needs.
Just now Donna exclaimed, "I'm winning!"
Oh? really?
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends. See?" Donna pointed to a black dog beanie baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically. Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."
Donna is without younger siblings today, since Joe took the other three littles along to his parents' house to attend a cousin's funeral.
I was left here with Clara, Sophie, and Donna. Matt is at his two week annual training for the Marine Corps. Louisa and Elsie are working nights; so they sleep all day. It's kind of like a vacation for me.
I was not sure, though, how Donna would do without any other littles. My kids have never had to be alone, to find things to do to occupy themselves on their own.
But I needn't have worried with Donna. She came out first thing on this gloomy rainy morning, dressed in one of the princess dresses. She had a little beanie baby friend and a tail. A black fur piece of tail from some preserved animal pelt. She held up the tail and showed me the "ears" and the "nose." And introduced me to Lillian.
Then she proceded to enact all sorts of stories with these friends. After many other adventures, "they" decided to play slap jack.
Alyssa won.
Donna showed me several times throughout the game how thick Alyssa's pile of cards was growing. She had me look to see how eagerly Alyssa jumped onto the card pile when a jack came up.
Poor Lillian just couldn't compete. She lay lazily off to the side and did not seem altogether engaged in the game.
Eventually Sophie finished the drawing she was doing nearby. Apparently She felt bad for Donna having to play slap jack alone, as Sophie naively thought. And so Sophie offered to play with Donna.
"I'll play slapjack with you."
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends. See?" Donna pointed to a black dog beany baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically. Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."
Sophie was very patient and kindly played with Donna. And her two friends. At some point Sophie and Donna decided it would make the game go a little better if each of them "acted" one of the friends. Apparently Donna had a few extra rules with which Sophie was unfamiliar, because I heard the following interchange:
"What kind of rules do you have? I've never played with these rules."
"They're the Poptropica rules."
Hmmm.
I got a phone call, and had to leave the room. But when I returned, Sophie was gone. But Donna, Alyssa, and Lillian were still playing cards. This time Go-fish. It's so fun to watch her asking her friends if they have one or another card, and then she looks at their cards and answers. And in turn, she asks on behalf of one of the others for some card the friend needs.
Just now Donna exclaimed, "I'm winning!"
Oh? really?
Friday, May 2, 2014
Spring challenges, brave children
Each winter, when the snows fall and the temps drop, we review with the kids various winter weather rules for playing outside. So too, each spring. We have to make sure the youngest set of kids remembers the nice weather rules. Suddenly the walls of snow surrounding our yard are gone and the world opens up again. And that big wide world is begins to call to the kids in new and exciting ways.
I have Alyssa N.'s twins here today to play with Inge. So there are two four year olds and Inge is five. They have spend most of the morning outside.
But when they first went out, little did I think to warn them all about "the rules." I assumed they'd go out to the sandbox, or the playground down at church. Or to out detached garage.
But no, when I went to find them a few minutes later, to tell them that I was leaving to exercise but that Clara and Sophie were here with them, they were not to be found.
I looked around back, and at the playground, and down along the back side of the church yard. Clara came out to check the other garage.
I wasn't too worried, since I knew they were around somewhere. And that Clara would find them and care for them. But since I wasn't sure where they were, I backed the car out very slowly. A little foot or so at a time. I always get extra nervous backing out if I don't know where the kids are for sure.
So I was backing. And looking all around. Stopping and looking some more.
By this time Sophie was out, too.
And we all three, Clara, Sophie, and I saw the kids at almost the same moment.
I remembered then that as the kids were looking out the window, just before they went outside, they were talking about the cat and how she was going out into the field to look for food.
When I later told the kids the rules and explained that they couldn't go out of the yard, little Ellie asked "How come the cat can go in the field?"
And Eli added, "She even goes on the road."
And so I added the extra precaution, "And remember, don't go on the road, either. Just the yard. The playground. The sandbox."
Agreement all around. I hope.
I have Alyssa N.'s twins here today to play with Inge. So there are two four year olds and Inge is five. They have spend most of the morning outside.
But when they first went out, little did I think to warn them all about "the rules." I assumed they'd go out to the sandbox, or the playground down at church. Or to out detached garage.
But no, when I went to find them a few minutes later, to tell them that I was leaving to exercise but that Clara and Sophie were here with them, they were not to be found.
I looked around back, and at the playground, and down along the back side of the church yard. Clara came out to check the other garage.
I wasn't too worried, since I knew they were around somewhere. And that Clara would find them and care for them. But since I wasn't sure where they were, I backed the car out very slowly. A little foot or so at a time. I always get extra nervous backing out if I don't know where the kids are for sure.
So I was backing. And looking all around. Stopping and looking some more.
By this time Sophie was out, too.
And we all three, Clara, Sophie, and I saw the kids at almost the same moment.
 |
| This one is zoomed in. |
 |
| If you enlarge this enough, you can see the kids by the arrow. Waaaaaay out there. |
I remembered then that as the kids were looking out the window, just before they went outside, they were talking about the cat and how she was going out into the field to look for food.
When I later told the kids the rules and explained that they couldn't go out of the yard, little Ellie asked "How come the cat can go in the field?"
And Eli added, "She even goes on the road."
And so I added the extra precaution, "And remember, don't go on the road, either. Just the yard. The playground. The sandbox."
Agreement all around. I hope.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Some thoughts on my recent re-entry into the homeschool world
First thought
Sophie finished two days' worth of lessons yesterday so that she could sew today. I hauled out the sewing machine (which is sadly only about a once in every two years occurrence). I got the it threaded and the tensions all set. Sophie found some fabric someone had given the girls for craft type projects at one time.
As I write, she's pinning two sides of a pillow together. We've talked about seam allowances; marking them first or using the gauge on the machine; how and why to pin; and the pros and cons of running over pins vs taking them out.
After she's done pinning, I'll have her practice on some scrap fabric, sewing straight lines and then progressively harder curves for a little bit, before she works on her pillow.
It makes me kick myself a little bit, "This is so easy and so fun. Why haven't I done it more often?" But then I must stop to remind myself, "Most of your years of mothering, Mary, have been spent in pregnancy, nursing babies, and teaching many children at multiple ages. Now you can relax and enjoy it a little bit more with these girls. You only have one preschooler, and two to school."
Second thought
As I came into the living room after getting Sophie started, I saw a little pile of school pictures on the counter. I assume they are some one of the kids brought home from their school friends, since I don't remember seeing them there before.
Which then made me a little sad because of something that happened the other day. The day they got their pictures back.
Poor little Donna! She was so sad. Traumatized even, when she realized that I hadn't ordered any pictures and she just had and empty envelope with a black and white proof to bring home. The other kids all had pretty color pictures that they could share with their friends. She sat on my lap and just cried out of sadness.
This almost broke my heart. And over such a silly thing, too. It's just one of her first little lessons in peer pressure and wanting to be like everyone else. And have what others have.
But I simply can't get myself to spend money on school pictures. Firstly, when I think about the cost, it's crazy, ... multiplied by three kids, it could by a weeks worth of groceries for us. But besides that, I see how they lie around my house. The kids want to keep them nice, they intend to keep them nice. But they lie around. They get shoved here and there; torn and scratched and otherwise beat up. Sometimes pin holes in eyes and mustaches drawn on. Until kids are old enough to treat them well, why should I pay my money so my child can give a picture to someone who's going to treat it like I see my kids treating their friends' pictures. Or are not all kids like that?
Yes, I could get them to send to friends and relatives. But I know myself well enough to know what would happen to those pictures. They'd sit here and rot, because even with my best intentions, I know full well I'd never get them in the mail.
And so my kids don't get pictures. Is that depriving them too severely? I don't think so.
Until we have moments like Donna's the other day.
Sophie finished two days' worth of lessons yesterday so that she could sew today. I hauled out the sewing machine (which is sadly only about a once in every two years occurrence). I got the it threaded and the tensions all set. Sophie found some fabric someone had given the girls for craft type projects at one time.
As I write, she's pinning two sides of a pillow together. We've talked about seam allowances; marking them first or using the gauge on the machine; how and why to pin; and the pros and cons of running over pins vs taking them out.
After she's done pinning, I'll have her practice on some scrap fabric, sewing straight lines and then progressively harder curves for a little bit, before she works on her pillow.
It makes me kick myself a little bit, "This is so easy and so fun. Why haven't I done it more often?" But then I must stop to remind myself, "Most of your years of mothering, Mary, have been spent in pregnancy, nursing babies, and teaching many children at multiple ages. Now you can relax and enjoy it a little bit more with these girls. You only have one preschooler, and two to school."
Second thought
As I came into the living room after getting Sophie started, I saw a little pile of school pictures on the counter. I assume they are some one of the kids brought home from their school friends, since I don't remember seeing them there before.
Which then made me a little sad because of something that happened the other day. The day they got their pictures back.
Poor little Donna! She was so sad. Traumatized even, when she realized that I hadn't ordered any pictures and she just had and empty envelope with a black and white proof to bring home. The other kids all had pretty color pictures that they could share with their friends. She sat on my lap and just cried out of sadness.
This almost broke my heart. And over such a silly thing, too. It's just one of her first little lessons in peer pressure and wanting to be like everyone else. And have what others have.
But I simply can't get myself to spend money on school pictures. Firstly, when I think about the cost, it's crazy, ... multiplied by three kids, it could by a weeks worth of groceries for us. But besides that, I see how they lie around my house. The kids want to keep them nice, they intend to keep them nice. But they lie around. They get shoved here and there; torn and scratched and otherwise beat up. Sometimes pin holes in eyes and mustaches drawn on. Until kids are old enough to treat them well, why should I pay my money so my child can give a picture to someone who's going to treat it like I see my kids treating their friends' pictures. Or are not all kids like that?
Yes, I could get them to send to friends and relatives. But I know myself well enough to know what would happen to those pictures. They'd sit here and rot, because even with my best intentions, I know full well I'd never get them in the mail.
And so my kids don't get pictures. Is that depriving them too severely? I don't think so.
Until we have moments like Donna's the other day.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Is this really art?
This is from the Nick Jr. show, Yo Gabba Gabba. I know nothing of the show. I stumbled upon this video because of a list of recommended children's youtube channels. Yo Gabba Gabba was the favorite of the person putting together the list.
I watched a few episodes with Inge. Yes, she was interested. Yes, she was involved. Yes, she was stimulated.
Strange. At first glance, the whole show seemed to me little more than a retro hippy drug induced creation. And at second glance. Third....
As I watched the above clip, I was reminded of a discussion going on in worldview and education/homeschool philosophy circles many years ago. Perhaps it still is. I mostly no longer have the energy to pursue such intelligent philosophical banterings, so I can't say for sure.
The idea was that 20th century art is widely a reflection of the wider 20th century tendency to forgo rules and order. What appears in this video to be a bunch of adults clowning around and making a huge mess, is called art.
I don't deny that art is everywhere. Creativity abounds in humanity. Beauty abounds in the earth. Interesting and challenging ideas can be portrayed visually. Touching moments, hardship, violence, accomplishment, virtue, etc. These can all be portrayed through visual media. That to me is art. At least visual art.
But the above definition of art? Really? I think we as a society can and should do better than this. We ought to hold higher standards before our children.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Playing with Pollys. Or actually Polly and clothes.
 |
| Donna is in the blue outfit. Clockwise from her, is Clara, Sophie, Stella, and Inge. |
Sorry for the poor resolution in this picture. We're currently camera-less, so I took shot with my laptop.
Donna got a little Polly Pocket set for her birthday. It consists of one doll, with about six or eight outfits. The five girls who are home right now are all playing together with this one set. One of them at a time has the doll. The other ones "create" dolls by putting the outfits together strangely.
I heard Donna's doll ask Sophie's doll, "Polly, why do you have a shoe for a head?"
Then a little while later Stella said, "Look at my head. It's a bow-head."
They are having more fun figuring out how to build with all the little clothing and accessory pieces, than they are playing with the Polly doll herself.
 |
| Sophie just wanted me to photo her creation. A perfect example: Polly dress, gloves, shoes, and a purse for a head. |
This is so typical of my family. I have often exclaimed in exasperation, "Why can't my kids ever play with something the way it was designed?!?" And yet, ... It's amazing to see their creativity, isn't it? And yes, I love to see them working/playing/inventing all together, ages 4-13.
"A top lip? Why did you give me a top lip?" AKA, "Happy Birthday, Donna!"
Thank-you Heavenly Father for my family. And especially for my Donna LouElla, who turns six today.
Tonight at Donna's birthday "party" our kids did the typical routine of digging out all kinds of their own things to give to the birthday person. This used to drive me nuts, but I see all the joy they give each other, and so I've come to enjoy watching them open the usually immense haul.
So what if Stella gave two pairs of worn out shoes? "Shoes? Stella, why did you give me your old shoes? And broken flip-flops? Stella!"
So what if Stella also gave Donna the fox fur that Sophie gave Stella, when Sophie cleaned her room and didn't like that pieces of it were crumbling all over the place? "Fur? What will I do with that?"
Does it really matter that Stella also gave Donna the big Teddy Bear that used to be hers. But that was before she had given it to John at Christmas. Oops, forgot about that, I guess. John didn't care, though, so I guess it's all good.
What about Inge who just goes through the house picking up whatever fits in the bag? Regardless of it's rightful owner.
Clara and Sophie purchased their offerings at the Dollar Store this year. I suppose that's a step up. They have a little money burning a hole in their pockets, you know. Donna is excited to try her sidewalk chalk and she likes her star shaped sun glasses. "Do you know who Lady Gaga is, Mom? She always wears things like this."
I laugh at the kids, but I'm not much better. I picked up one dollar store item, and one new little thing from the Wal-Mart toy aisle. (That one just about kills me, since the new stuff is such junk these days. I just know all these little Polly Pocket outfits will be torn apart in a few weeks. Or Polly's head with be cracked and no longer stay on. I feel like I ought to get the kids something "real", as in something new, just for them. It's usually nothing much. But it's so hard to part with our money when the toys are so cheaply made.)
Oh, and I also pulled my usual stunt of forgetting to wrap one of the gifts. I had found a little skirt on clearance a month or so ago and tucked it up in my closet. So that ended up wrapped in a bandana.
Some of the kids' gifts are usually wrapped in newspaper, others in reused gift bags. Some are wrapped in tissue paper, or other paper they find around the house. Coloring book pictures, or drawings. The kids make little cards to put on all their things. Some put a separate card on each item, and the messages are very sweet. "To someone I love, From Inge." or little hearts and flowers. or a "portrait" of the birthday child.
I love to see the thoughtfulness and generosity these little tokens show.
The crowning moment tonight, though, came when Donna was reading one of Sophie's cards. She was looking at all the little drawings and sounding out the words.
Then suddenly she said, "A top lip?" We all kind of looked at each other. We weren't sure we heard her right.
Sophie came closer to see what Donna meant, as Donna repeated the question, "Why did you make me a top lip?" We all laughed while we waited for Sophie to interpret the apparent misunderstanding.
"It's a heart, Silly!"
For some reason that just tickled me. What on earth would someone draw a top lip for? To represent half a kiss? Sophie and I really got the giggles talking about the various possibilities of what this strange and new symbol might mean in a greeting card.
Later when Donna asked Stella, "Why did you draw a flower and a heart?" I couldn't resist answering, "I guess she couldn't figure out how to make a top lip."
Tonight at Donna's birthday "party" our kids did the typical routine of digging out all kinds of their own things to give to the birthday person. This used to drive me nuts, but I see all the joy they give each other, and so I've come to enjoy watching them open the usually immense haul.
So what if Stella gave two pairs of worn out shoes? "Shoes? Stella, why did you give me your old shoes? And broken flip-flops? Stella!"
So what if Stella also gave Donna the fox fur that Sophie gave Stella, when Sophie cleaned her room and didn't like that pieces of it were crumbling all over the place? "Fur? What will I do with that?"
Does it really matter that Stella also gave Donna the big Teddy Bear that used to be hers. But that was before she had given it to John at Christmas. Oops, forgot about that, I guess. John didn't care, though, so I guess it's all good.
What about Inge who just goes through the house picking up whatever fits in the bag? Regardless of it's rightful owner.
Clara and Sophie purchased their offerings at the Dollar Store this year. I suppose that's a step up. They have a little money burning a hole in their pockets, you know. Donna is excited to try her sidewalk chalk and she likes her star shaped sun glasses. "Do you know who Lady Gaga is, Mom? She always wears things like this."
I laugh at the kids, but I'm not much better. I picked up one dollar store item, and one new little thing from the Wal-Mart toy aisle. (That one just about kills me, since the new stuff is such junk these days. I just know all these little Polly Pocket outfits will be torn apart in a few weeks. Or Polly's head with be cracked and no longer stay on. I feel like I ought to get the kids something "real", as in something new, just for them. It's usually nothing much. But it's so hard to part with our money when the toys are so cheaply made.)
Oh, and I also pulled my usual stunt of forgetting to wrap one of the gifts. I had found a little skirt on clearance a month or so ago and tucked it up in my closet. So that ended up wrapped in a bandana.
Some of the kids' gifts are usually wrapped in newspaper, others in reused gift bags. Some are wrapped in tissue paper, or other paper they find around the house. Coloring book pictures, or drawings. The kids make little cards to put on all their things. Some put a separate card on each item, and the messages are very sweet. "To someone I love, From Inge." or little hearts and flowers. or a "portrait" of the birthday child.
I love to see the thoughtfulness and generosity these little tokens show.
The crowning moment tonight, though, came when Donna was reading one of Sophie's cards. She was looking at all the little drawings and sounding out the words.
Then suddenly she said, "A top lip?" We all kind of looked at each other. We weren't sure we heard her right.
Sophie came closer to see what Donna meant, as Donna repeated the question, "Why did you make me a top lip?" We all laughed while we waited for Sophie to interpret the apparent misunderstanding.
"It's a heart, Silly!"
For some reason that just tickled me. What on earth would someone draw a top lip for? To represent half a kiss? Sophie and I really got the giggles talking about the various possibilities of what this strange and new symbol might mean in a greeting card.
Later when Donna asked Stella, "Why did you draw a flower and a heart?" I couldn't resist answering, "I guess she couldn't figure out how to make a top lip."
Thursday, April 18, 2013
A Joyful Cacophony
This post demonstrates two very opposite truths of Christian family life: 1) the great joy of seeing children practicing their reading skills by singing familiar hymns from the hymnal; and 2) the chagrin at seeing something that littles learn from bigs, which is not always the kind of thing a mother wishes her children would learn in association with a well-loved hymn.
The well loved hymn:
Joy to the World
The setting:
Our living room.
Stella singing a little bit ahead, since she is a faster reader.
Donna slowly sounding out the words based on her rudimentary reading skills and familiarity with the hymn.
Inge, flying in from the kitchen about half-way through, with her own little addition to the choir.
Reader beware: Cacophony ensued which I will try to capture in the written word. You must imagine much simultaneous singing of a variety of words.
Stella: Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth, receive her King. Let every heart, ...
Donna joins at about this time, still keeping time, since the first verse is mostly familiar: Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth, receive her King. Let every heart, ...
A little further on, it sounded somewhat like this:
Stella: Joy to the earth
Donna: Let every heart
Stella: The Savior reigns
Donna: Prepare Him room
Stella: Let men their songs employ
Donna: And heaven and nature sing
But at some point in this somewhat disarrayed, but still lovely chorus, Inge came flying in, joining at the top of her lungs, singing with great zeal to compete with the other strains:
Joy to the world, my bus driver's dead. We barbecued his head.
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| Christmas Angel Choir from Gerard David's Nativity |
Joy to the World
The setting:
Our living room.
Stella singing a little bit ahead, since she is a faster reader.
Donna slowly sounding out the words based on her rudimentary reading skills and familiarity with the hymn.
Inge, flying in from the kitchen about half-way through, with her own little addition to the choir.
Reader beware: Cacophony ensued which I will try to capture in the written word. You must imagine much simultaneous singing of a variety of words.
Stella: Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth, receive her King. Let every heart, ...
Donna joins at about this time, still keeping time, since the first verse is mostly familiar: Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth, receive her King. Let every heart, ...
A little further on, it sounded somewhat like this:
Stella: Joy to the earth
Donna: Let every heart
Stella: The Savior reigns
Donna: Prepare Him room
Stella: Let men their songs employ
Donna: And heaven and nature sing
But at some point in this somewhat disarrayed, but still lovely chorus, Inge came flying in, joining at the top of her lungs, singing with great zeal to compete with the other strains:
Joy to the world, my bus driver's dead. We barbecued his head.
 |
| Ms Frizzle and Lizzie, from the Magic Schoolbus |
Friday, September 7, 2012
The Sweet and Slightly Tragic Tale of Two Small Girls and a Couple of Very Tiny Mice
I have a friend who has encouraged me repetitively to post my family stories on my blog rather than only on facebook. There are many of you facebook friends, therefore who may have seen this story. So if you don't want to read the extended play version, just don't click on the link, OK? And from now on, you may see more and more of such facebook stories repeated here. And perhaps even an old one or two excavated from the deep, dark depths of facebook history.
As I was sitting around today doing nothing (as most moms do all day, you know) Inge and Donna came running inside. Inge's little hands were cupped closed together as if they held an exotic treasure.
Donna yelled, "We found a baby mouse. Inge caught it!"
Joe happened to also be sitting around doing nothing. In all truth just prior to this episode, he and I had been engaged in a rare adult conversation. It turned out to be short-lived, to be co-opted by a more interesting adventure.
Joe called Inge over and peeked into her little cupped hands. Yes, within was indeed a baby mouse. Joe got Inge a small bucket into which she gently and carefully set her tiny friend.
"Will it get away?" she asked her dad.
"No, I don't think it will be able to climb the sides of the bucket. They are too slippery, and he is too little."
They watched if for awhile.
"Do you want to see it, Mama?"
"Mmmm. I'd like nothing more," is the sarcastic response that flitted briefly through my mind. But since I'm such a good mom, what came out of my mouth sounded more like, "Oh, sure. Cute! That is so cool."
And it was cool. It was a very little mouse, about an inch around and perhaps just a tad longer. Just a little round bundle of gray fur, really. With two sparkly eyes and two teeny round ears. And a little slip of a black tail, also about an inch long. I have to admit, he really was quite cute.
"I can't believe you girls caught a mouse. How did you do it."
"The cat had it first. He was catching it in his mouth, and then throwing it, and catching it again," they explained.
"Mm-hm."
Joe watched them with the baby mouse for awhile, and told them to be sure to wash with soap and water after playing with it. Joe suspected that perhaps it had a punctured lung, since he could hear a strange clicking noise when it breathed.
Pretty soon Joe left us to go to his church office. A few minutes later he came back with a little covered dish in which was another baby mouse. Funny isn't it, how the Inge can catch one with her hands, but Daddy has to use a little dish?
"Daddy, Daddy, how did you catch one? Where did you get it? Why did you bring another one in?" were some of the questions cascading from the two girls, as they hopped up and down in excitement.
"The cat had this one, too," Joe explained. "If we keep taking away any that he finds, he'll keep finding more of them, and maybe he'll eventually get the whole nest. That's why we have a cat, you know, to kill the mice for us. He's earned his keep today. So you can't keep the mice, understand? We will have to kill them. But you can watch them for a little while longer."
As the afternoon progressed, the little girls were in and out of the living room where the mice were dwelling in the tenuous security of their bucket home. Inge and Donna came and went, checking on and watching the baby mice. And then whoosh, away again, off to play elsewhere for awhile. In and out, each in its turn, as afternoon hours slipped by.
At one point, Inge was dancing with the bucket of mice, swinging it back and forth, while singing a little song. I became a bit concerned that she'd dump them out with her antics, so I suggested she take them outside to dance with them. Pretty soon she and Donna left the room, I assumed to go play outside. I thought no more of the mice.
It turned out the girls did not wish to continue to look at their little friends, and dance with them, and otherwise befriend them under the watchful eye of theMom. Unbeknownst to theMom, the girls had taken the bucket, complete with mice, into their bedroom for a more intimate interpersonal experience.
But of this further development, I remained blissfully unaware.
Eventually the older kids got home from school, with the typical rush and bustle of three kids getting off a school bus. Each had tales of the day to relate. They get home hungry and clamoring for a snack. The younger ones are always eager to show me their papers and any notes from their teachers. And the school kids, in turn, get to hear all about our day from Inge, Donna, and I. It really gets to be quite a commotion.
Since I was a little under the weather today, I still sat in the living room doing nothing. When everyone got home, I tried to stay on the sidelines of the fray, keeping mostly to myself until the initial excitement quieted down.
I heard from the other room, one of the little ones telling about the mice.
"There used to be two, but one of them kept biting us, so we smashed him."
! ? ! ? !
Of course, this is not the kind of talk I prefer to hear from my little girls. Parents walk a fine line raising kids these days. "Be kind to animals," and, "No bullying," etc. But yet at the same time, we want strong and independent kids. We want kids who know the difference between people and animals, and who if necessary, can kill their own food to provide for their families. Or kill a threatening or dangerous animal to protect themselves or others.
Yes, I realize the mice had to die. But I must admit I was a bit chagrined to hear such a calloused explanation of the demise of one of those cute little creatures.
Sentimental, yes. But, where to draw the line? I struggle with this as a mom. Where does practical end and unwonted cruelty begin? Sigh.
The final chapter in my tale occurred a short time later. The rush of the daily homecoming had subsided. The snacks were eaten. Activity had once again diminished to include only the normal hubbub of a houseful of children.
Suddenly the calm was broken by the shrill hollering of one of the bigger girls, "GROSS MOM! There's dead mouse in the hallway!"
As I was sitting around today doing nothing (as most moms do all day, you know) Inge and Donna came running inside. Inge's little hands were cupped closed together as if they held an exotic treasure.
Donna yelled, "We found a baby mouse. Inge caught it!"
Joe happened to also be sitting around doing nothing. In all truth just prior to this episode, he and I had been engaged in a rare adult conversation. It turned out to be short-lived, to be co-opted by a more interesting adventure.
Joe called Inge over and peeked into her little cupped hands. Yes, within was indeed a baby mouse. Joe got Inge a small bucket into which she gently and carefully set her tiny friend.
"Will it get away?" she asked her dad.
"No, I don't think it will be able to climb the sides of the bucket. They are too slippery, and he is too little."
They watched if for awhile.
"Do you want to see it, Mama?"
"Mmmm. I'd like nothing more," is the sarcastic response that flitted briefly through my mind. But since I'm such a good mom, what came out of my mouth sounded more like, "Oh, sure. Cute! That is so cool."
And it was cool. It was a very little mouse, about an inch around and perhaps just a tad longer. Just a little round bundle of gray fur, really. With two sparkly eyes and two teeny round ears. And a little slip of a black tail, also about an inch long. I have to admit, he really was quite cute.
"I can't believe you girls caught a mouse. How did you do it."
"The cat had it first. He was catching it in his mouth, and then throwing it, and catching it again," they explained.
"Mm-hm."
Joe watched them with the baby mouse for awhile, and told them to be sure to wash with soap and water after playing with it. Joe suspected that perhaps it had a punctured lung, since he could hear a strange clicking noise when it breathed.
Pretty soon Joe left us to go to his church office. A few minutes later he came back with a little covered dish in which was another baby mouse. Funny isn't it, how the Inge can catch one with her hands, but Daddy has to use a little dish?
"Daddy, Daddy, how did you catch one? Where did you get it? Why did you bring another one in?" were some of the questions cascading from the two girls, as they hopped up and down in excitement.
"The cat had this one, too," Joe explained. "If we keep taking away any that he finds, he'll keep finding more of them, and maybe he'll eventually get the whole nest. That's why we have a cat, you know, to kill the mice for us. He's earned his keep today. So you can't keep the mice, understand? We will have to kill them. But you can watch them for a little while longer."
As the afternoon progressed, the little girls were in and out of the living room where the mice were dwelling in the tenuous security of their bucket home. Inge and Donna came and went, checking on and watching the baby mice. And then whoosh, away again, off to play elsewhere for awhile. In and out, each in its turn, as afternoon hours slipped by.
At one point, Inge was dancing with the bucket of mice, swinging it back and forth, while singing a little song. I became a bit concerned that she'd dump them out with her antics, so I suggested she take them outside to dance with them. Pretty soon she and Donna left the room, I assumed to go play outside. I thought no more of the mice.
It turned out the girls did not wish to continue to look at their little friends, and dance with them, and otherwise befriend them under the watchful eye of theMom. Unbeknownst to theMom, the girls had taken the bucket, complete with mice, into their bedroom for a more intimate interpersonal experience.
But of this further development, I remained blissfully unaware.
Eventually the older kids got home from school, with the typical rush and bustle of three kids getting off a school bus. Each had tales of the day to relate. They get home hungry and clamoring for a snack. The younger ones are always eager to show me their papers and any notes from their teachers. And the school kids, in turn, get to hear all about our day from Inge, Donna, and I. It really gets to be quite a commotion.
Since I was a little under the weather today, I still sat in the living room doing nothing. When everyone got home, I tried to stay on the sidelines of the fray, keeping mostly to myself until the initial excitement quieted down.
I heard from the other room, one of the little ones telling about the mice.
"There used to be two, but one of them kept biting us, so we smashed him."
! ? ! ? !
Of course, this is not the kind of talk I prefer to hear from my little girls. Parents walk a fine line raising kids these days. "Be kind to animals," and, "No bullying," etc. But yet at the same time, we want strong and independent kids. We want kids who know the difference between people and animals, and who if necessary, can kill their own food to provide for their families. Or kill a threatening or dangerous animal to protect themselves or others.
Yes, I realize the mice had to die. But I must admit I was a bit chagrined to hear such a calloused explanation of the demise of one of those cute little creatures.
Sentimental, yes. But, where to draw the line? I struggle with this as a mom. Where does practical end and unwonted cruelty begin? Sigh.
The final chapter in my tale occurred a short time later. The rush of the daily homecoming had subsided. The snacks were eaten. Activity had once again diminished to include only the normal hubbub of a houseful of children.
Suddenly the calm was broken by the shrill hollering of one of the bigger girls, "GROSS MOM! There's dead mouse in the hallway!"
Monday, August 13, 2012
Clothing from Heaven
Any mother of many will understand the challenge of managing the whole issue of clothing her many children. At first consideration, some might think that providing the clothing would be the most difficult part of providing raiment.
"NOT SO!" I, together with any other mother of many, will firmly assert.
We Americans are very spoiled. Very wealthy. So much so that most of us don't even notice our wealth. It's very easy to think that one has to spend a fortune on a wardrobe for one's kids. That's the kind of society we have.
As a case in point, I will provide this illustration. A few years back I picked up a boys' Ralph Lauren dress shirt for John. I got it at a charity thrift store. I probably paid two or three dollars for it. I don't remember, but two is my usual upper end of spending. I may have gone to three if John really needed the dress shirt at that particular time. The shirt is obviously of better quality than a Wal-mart or K-mart special. Its fabric and cut have remained satisfyingly crisp and even throughout many washes.
A quick google search tells me that similar shirts at Nordstrom might cost about $40 at full price, or perhaps $25 on a markdown. Or someone lucky or diligent enough to find a clearance might get it for half of that yet.
Next in line of cheapness might be a consignment clothing store, or an overstock type venue such as TJ Max or factory outlets. But I don't really find those to be a wise investment for me. The prices are simply too high for my budget. I don't live near any such stores. I don't care about name brands. But for others with a little more cash flow, the time and location to shop often, and a preference for higher end clothing, such places can be an excellent shopping choice.
On the other end of the spectrum, someone who keeps track of sale days and bag sales at the local thrift stores, or who lives in a town and so has easy access to rummage sales might find my two or three dollars quite spendy.
And so, there are variations in how much one is willing to spend, and the quality on which one chooses to spend. It does not have to cost a great deal even if one were to purchase all the clothes each child needs.
But (insert here a dramatic pause, and perhaps a drum roll or other suspenseful music), there are also hand-me-downs. And most mothers of many have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of hand-me-downs. This is the clothing from heaven phenomenom with which many mothers of large families perpetually deal.
There is the constant influx of bags of clothing, for many of which we are extremely thankful. But it's very easy to save too many things in any particular size or season. There are times when we don't have time to sort the things coming in. There are times we don't have the energy to pull out all the stored away boxes to put the recently acquired items in their proper spot. There are times we can't keep up with weeding out the worn, torn, and too small items from the stock in current use.
Any mother of many will agree that this one aspect of raising a large family seems to consume a disproportionately large amount of maternal energies.
And that's the project I've been tackling the last few weeks. Clothes for the four youngest to get washed up, sorted out, gotten together, stored away, weeded out for consignment or charity or rags. And to remember to keep nagging at the middle set of kids to do the same with their own.
The following anecdotes are cut and pasted from facebook. They will set the stage for my final story.
First, on Saturday as I worked I posted,
Except for the 165 gallons of clothes spewing forth into the hallway yester-eve, the clothing sorting/managing project has been going mostly smoothly. I packed up four boxes of toys to keep them out from under foot. I put them along the wall of the hallway, and put a big quilt over them. It looks like a bench, and I don't think the little ones have thought to peak under the quilt to see what's making the bench.
I do have, however, the typical ongoing battle with Inge and Donna, the chronic clothes changers. They are eager to try on all those pretty new-to-them clothes. These are currently waiting in the living room in baskets, for me to decide what will best fit where in the dressers. I want to wait until I have all the clothes sorted and ready before I decide, so that I know I'm making the best use of space possible.
But there is always the question. Is it really a better use of time? Would the girls stay out of the clothes better if the clothing was in the bedroom dressers? While I'm still occupied with this gargantuan task, would I be able to monitor them, and follow through on keeping them out of the clothing in the dressers? Which will be less tempting for these two little monkey-shiners?
Mostly, especially considering the propensities of these two youngest girls, they are exhibiting an immense amount of self-control. I only holler at them a couple of times a day to stop getting new clothes. I've been mostly keeping everything they have worn and soiled into the laundry chute, and most of the unsoiled items back on their hooks or in the basket. Mostly. But it is an ever present responsibility. I have to stay vigilant with them.
But for this next little story, you need little tangential explanation. Sorry. Please do stay with me.
I find little girl slips to be one of those things of which I've accumulated too many throughout the years. Each girl fits them differently, each dress needs a different length, etc. Also because I buy used, things don's always last long. So when I see a slip somewhere for mere pennies, I tend to buy it. Hence, the gradual accumulation.
But the other angle on this whole accumulated slip situation, is that in the crazy-disorder of my last several years, I've stopped worrying about slips. I'm lucky to get dresses on the kids, let alone slips. If one of the girls ends up in church with a see-through dress,... oh, well,... it's not the end of the world. I'm just glad most Sundays that they are clothed and shod when we go out.
And so the idea of a slip, and it's proper use, is wholly unfamiliar to my youngest girls. They think these silky, lacy items are merely pretty things for playing dress-up. For that reason, I tend to keep the slips hidden away. But that adds to the difficulty of introducing the properly use and purpose of a slip. When I need one, I can never seem to remember where they are hidden.
So now, in the process of going through all the clothing items in the house, I have found about ten slips. I had them in my "pile of last stuff" that has invaded one of our living room couches. And today was the day to tackle that pile. All those odds and ends were waiting for me to put away. Things like mittens and hats that never got put away properly last winter, baseball and sun hats, headbands, bandanas, assorted rags, cloth napkins, doilies, about 50 pairs of tights in varying stages of disrepair, and yes, slips. All this had to be sorted today and put in some order. And I did it. I got it done. Each kind of thing that does not yet have a proper spot, now has a bag or box that is labeled.
After I had finished sorting that particular mountain, I asked Inge and Donna to put the slips in a box of things on Stella's dresser. Temporarily.
"But, Mom,: said Donna, "They have a place in my locker cupboard. Remember we used to keep them there?"
"Yes we did. You're right. But right now we are cleaning and sorting and reorganizing. They might not go in that same spot once we get everything put away. I want you to put them in the box until I decide where their spot is going to be. Please put them in the box for me."
The girls took the slips, an armload each, all those satiny items slip-sliding in their little arms, and went their way. To the bedroom. To the box on the dresser. Ideally.
But alas! It was not to be. About 20 minutes later they came into the living room, each dressed in their choice of pretty lacy slips.
"Oh, you girls! I wanted those put away. Please take them off and get dressed in your regular clothes and PUT THE SLIPS IN THE BOX!"
"But, Mom, we want to look pretty. These are pretty. They are for dress-up and we want to dress up."
"Yes, they are pretty. But they are for underneath dresses. They are like underwear. They aren't supposed to be dresses. They aren't supposed to be toys."
They both got kind of confused expressions on their faces. They looked at each other sheepishly.
"Really?"
"NOT SO!" I, together with any other mother of many, will firmly assert.
We Americans are very spoiled. Very wealthy. So much so that most of us don't even notice our wealth. It's very easy to think that one has to spend a fortune on a wardrobe for one's kids. That's the kind of society we have.
As a case in point, I will provide this illustration. A few years back I picked up a boys' Ralph Lauren dress shirt for John. I got it at a charity thrift store. I probably paid two or three dollars for it. I don't remember, but two is my usual upper end of spending. I may have gone to three if John really needed the dress shirt at that particular time. The shirt is obviously of better quality than a Wal-mart or K-mart special. Its fabric and cut have remained satisfyingly crisp and even throughout many washes.
A quick google search tells me that similar shirts at Nordstrom might cost about $40 at full price, or perhaps $25 on a markdown. Or someone lucky or diligent enough to find a clearance might get it for half of that yet.
Next in line of cheapness might be a consignment clothing store, or an overstock type venue such as TJ Max or factory outlets. But I don't really find those to be a wise investment for me. The prices are simply too high for my budget. I don't live near any such stores. I don't care about name brands. But for others with a little more cash flow, the time and location to shop often, and a preference for higher end clothing, such places can be an excellent shopping choice.
On the other end of the spectrum, someone who keeps track of sale days and bag sales at the local thrift stores, or who lives in a town and so has easy access to rummage sales might find my two or three dollars quite spendy.
And so, there are variations in how much one is willing to spend, and the quality on which one chooses to spend. It does not have to cost a great deal even if one were to purchase all the clothes each child needs.
But (insert here a dramatic pause, and perhaps a drum roll or other suspenseful music), there are also hand-me-downs. And most mothers of many have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of hand-me-downs. This is the clothing from heaven phenomenom with which many mothers of large families perpetually deal.
There is the constant influx of bags of clothing, for many of which we are extremely thankful. But it's very easy to save too many things in any particular size or season. There are times when we don't have time to sort the things coming in. There are times we don't have the energy to pull out all the stored away boxes to put the recently acquired items in their proper spot. There are times we can't keep up with weeding out the worn, torn, and too small items from the stock in current use.
Any mother of many will agree that this one aspect of raising a large family seems to consume a disproportionately large amount of maternal energies.
And that's the project I've been tackling the last few weeks. Clothes for the four youngest to get washed up, sorted out, gotten together, stored away, weeded out for consignment or charity or rags. And to remember to keep nagging at the middle set of kids to do the same with their own.
The following anecdotes are cut and pasted from facebook. They will set the stage for my final story.
First, on Saturday as I worked I posted,
Joe accidentally picked up some 55 gallon trash bags for a picnic on Memorial Day. I've packed one totally full of things to take to Goodwill, plus another one well on the way to full. Hurray for Mary! I bet I could fill eight of them before I would feel caught up on the clothing situation around here. But it's a healthy start.And then in response to the question, "Are you going to be able to lift them," I explained,
It will be a two man job. I probably could, but they are quite tall, as in almost up to my armpit. So I'd worry about breaking the bag by dragging it.Last night, Sunday, I told this follow-up story,
But see, I have this other problem w/ stuff I pack up to give away. Since we live 75 miles from Goodwill, so have to plan a special trip to take the stuff in, it sometimes sits around for awhile. Inevitably, some little hole will be torn in a bag, And then for some reason, curious little ones always have to pick at little holes until they become big holes, and so all my carefully sorted stuff ends up all over my hallways, all mixed all together. This time I am putting everything in these super big, super strong bags, in the hopes that they will not experience such a fate. I hope.
I had one of those Calgon situations regarding the bagged clothing. This is the three 55 gallon bags. Remember from yesterday? I noticed throughout the day today that little holes were developing here and there on the bags.
"Stop picking holes in these bags!"
I caught kids climbing those big black mountains and sliding down a couple of times.
"Get off those bags and leave them alone."
Joe asked last night if I wanted his help to get them to the car right away so that they wouldn't get damaged.
"Oh, I've talked to the kids, I think they'll be fine. Besides, I don't know which vehicle I will have to take to Grand Forks."
Yeah.
So tonight, I was home alone with the younger five. I went to the back of the house for a little while, leaving them unattended for a few moments.
"Remember not to play on these bags, you guys. They are starting to get torn up," I reminded them as I walked away.
When I came back, there they were, a couple of the kids, bags knocked down, kids jumping and sliding all over them.
Big holes everywhere and clothes gushing forth. 55x3 gallons of clothes mind you.
"Errgh! YOU KIDS GET DOWN FROM THERE! WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU! I LEAVE FOR FIVE MINUTES AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!"
"We're sorry, Mom."
"NO YOU ARE NOT SORRY! IF YOU WERE, YOU WOULD NOT HAVE DONE IT! DON'T GIVE ME THAT LINE! WHAT WAS THE LAST THING I SAID TO YOU?"
Except for the 165 gallons of clothes spewing forth into the hallway yester-eve, the clothing sorting/managing project has been going mostly smoothly. I packed up four boxes of toys to keep them out from under foot. I put them along the wall of the hallway, and put a big quilt over them. It looks like a bench, and I don't think the little ones have thought to peak under the quilt to see what's making the bench.
I do have, however, the typical ongoing battle with Inge and Donna, the chronic clothes changers. They are eager to try on all those pretty new-to-them clothes. These are currently waiting in the living room in baskets, for me to decide what will best fit where in the dressers. I want to wait until I have all the clothes sorted and ready before I decide, so that I know I'm making the best use of space possible.
But there is always the question. Is it really a better use of time? Would the girls stay out of the clothes better if the clothing was in the bedroom dressers? While I'm still occupied with this gargantuan task, would I be able to monitor them, and follow through on keeping them out of the clothing in the dressers? Which will be less tempting for these two little monkey-shiners?
Mostly, especially considering the propensities of these two youngest girls, they are exhibiting an immense amount of self-control. I only holler at them a couple of times a day to stop getting new clothes. I've been mostly keeping everything they have worn and soiled into the laundry chute, and most of the unsoiled items back on their hooks or in the basket. Mostly. But it is an ever present responsibility. I have to stay vigilant with them.
But for this next little story, you need little tangential explanation. Sorry. Please do stay with me.
I find little girl slips to be one of those things of which I've accumulated too many throughout the years. Each girl fits them differently, each dress needs a different length, etc. Also because I buy used, things don's always last long. So when I see a slip somewhere for mere pennies, I tend to buy it. Hence, the gradual accumulation.
But the other angle on this whole accumulated slip situation, is that in the crazy-disorder of my last several years, I've stopped worrying about slips. I'm lucky to get dresses on the kids, let alone slips. If one of the girls ends up in church with a see-through dress,... oh, well,... it's not the end of the world. I'm just glad most Sundays that they are clothed and shod when we go out.
And so the idea of a slip, and it's proper use, is wholly unfamiliar to my youngest girls. They think these silky, lacy items are merely pretty things for playing dress-up. For that reason, I tend to keep the slips hidden away. But that adds to the difficulty of introducing the properly use and purpose of a slip. When I need one, I can never seem to remember where they are hidden.
So now, in the process of going through all the clothing items in the house, I have found about ten slips. I had them in my "pile of last stuff" that has invaded one of our living room couches. And today was the day to tackle that pile. All those odds and ends were waiting for me to put away. Things like mittens and hats that never got put away properly last winter, baseball and sun hats, headbands, bandanas, assorted rags, cloth napkins, doilies, about 50 pairs of tights in varying stages of disrepair, and yes, slips. All this had to be sorted today and put in some order. And I did it. I got it done. Each kind of thing that does not yet have a proper spot, now has a bag or box that is labeled.
After I had finished sorting that particular mountain, I asked Inge and Donna to put the slips in a box of things on Stella's dresser. Temporarily.
"But, Mom,: said Donna, "They have a place in my locker cupboard. Remember we used to keep them there?"
"Yes we did. You're right. But right now we are cleaning and sorting and reorganizing. They might not go in that same spot once we get everything put away. I want you to put them in the box until I decide where their spot is going to be. Please put them in the box for me."
The girls took the slips, an armload each, all those satiny items slip-sliding in their little arms, and went their way. To the bedroom. To the box on the dresser. Ideally.
But alas! It was not to be. About 20 minutes later they came into the living room, each dressed in their choice of pretty lacy slips.
"Oh, you girls! I wanted those put away. Please take them off and get dressed in your regular clothes and PUT THE SLIPS IN THE BOX!"
"But, Mom, we want to look pretty. These are pretty. They are for dress-up and we want to dress up."
"Yes, they are pretty. But they are for underneath dresses. They are like underwear. They aren't supposed to be dresses. They aren't supposed to be toys."
They both got kind of confused expressions on their faces. They looked at each other sheepishly.
"Really?"
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Beautiful Childhood Moments
I wrote earlier about the "checked out" sensation that had plagued me all winter and into the spring and summer. Finding energy to have my little ones help is one of the joys I've recently been blessed to rediscover.
My little ones have been helping me fold clothes lately.
"Mama, how do you fold shirts? Do towels go like this? Did I do this one right, Mom?"
Tonight while making supper, I had them help cut up veggies for the taco toppings.
Stella did two cans of olives. I was working on something that ended up using more concentration than I had planned, so by the time I noticed, she had gathered all the paraphernalia she needed and had opened the cans herself. Stella will be seven in the fall. When I got in there to check on her, the cans were, well, mangled. One of them at least was quite strange looking. She apparently had the can opener on sideways at first, and so cut the can below the lip. But then, I'm guessing, someone said something to her about it having been done wrongly. Because it was also opened in the normal fashion. So there was this ring of lip that was hanging at an angle, and then the lid itself off to the side. I'm really stumped as to how she managed it. But the olives were minced well, so the job got done.
Next, Donna did some green peppers. I cut them into strips for her first, so she only had to do the cross cuts. Donna is almost five.
Inge came running in and wanted to help, too. I set her up on the counter. The same counter, that is, down from which I'm constantly chasing her. She just sat and giggled. "You put me up here, Mama."
I had tomoatoes and onions to dice yet, so I did all but a few slices of each. Then I gave Inge the little left over bits to finish up. She did a fine job of it, too. Inge is all of three and a half.
I don't have my little girls help much, especially not lately. It's so much easier to grab one of the bigger kids who are independent. I found it a real pleasure to see my girls work, and to watch how able they were becoming.
I had to smile to myself when I saw how little Inge moved her pieces to the bowls when she was done. I watched as she would gather a little pile together with the edge of her knife and use it to scoop them into the bowl. I do this all the time without even thinking about it. Usually I'm using an ulu or a chef's knife. The wide blades on those knives are very suited to such lifting. Here Inge was with a little paring knife, imitating Mama, by balancing all those little pieces onto the blade. What a little sweetie!
Then during supper, after we had dished up for our first helpings, the onions were sitting near Inge. She grabbed them and reached out as if to pass them toward Joe. She said, "Daddy, do you want some onions? I maded them."
Then, of course, the other girls had to pipe in telling which things they had "maded," too. We all got a good giggle out of that, and the girls got a kick out of telling Daddy how much they had helped.
When we were gathered for bedtime prayers tonight, Joe said a special thank-you to all of them for their had work, and for fixing such a nice supper.
My little ones have been helping me fold clothes lately.
"Mama, how do you fold shirts? Do towels go like this? Did I do this one right, Mom?"
Tonight while making supper, I had them help cut up veggies for the taco toppings.
Stella did two cans of olives. I was working on something that ended up using more concentration than I had planned, so by the time I noticed, she had gathered all the paraphernalia she needed and had opened the cans herself. Stella will be seven in the fall. When I got in there to check on her, the cans were, well, mangled. One of them at least was quite strange looking. She apparently had the can opener on sideways at first, and so cut the can below the lip. But then, I'm guessing, someone said something to her about it having been done wrongly. Because it was also opened in the normal fashion. So there was this ring of lip that was hanging at an angle, and then the lid itself off to the side. I'm really stumped as to how she managed it. But the olives were minced well, so the job got done.
Next, Donna did some green peppers. I cut them into strips for her first, so she only had to do the cross cuts. Donna is almost five.
Inge came running in and wanted to help, too. I set her up on the counter. The same counter, that is, down from which I'm constantly chasing her. She just sat and giggled. "You put me up here, Mama."
I had tomoatoes and onions to dice yet, so I did all but a few slices of each. Then I gave Inge the little left over bits to finish up. She did a fine job of it, too. Inge is all of three and a half.
I don't have my little girls help much, especially not lately. It's so much easier to grab one of the bigger kids who are independent. I found it a real pleasure to see my girls work, and to watch how able they were becoming.
I had to smile to myself when I saw how little Inge moved her pieces to the bowls when she was done. I watched as she would gather a little pile together with the edge of her knife and use it to scoop them into the bowl. I do this all the time without even thinking about it. Usually I'm using an ulu or a chef's knife. The wide blades on those knives are very suited to such lifting. Here Inge was with a little paring knife, imitating Mama, by balancing all those little pieces onto the blade. What a little sweetie!
Then during supper, after we had dished up for our first helpings, the onions were sitting near Inge. She grabbed them and reached out as if to pass them toward Joe. She said, "Daddy, do you want some onions? I maded them."
Then, of course, the other girls had to pipe in telling which things they had "maded," too. We all got a good giggle out of that, and the girls got a kick out of telling Daddy how much they had helped.
When we were gathered for bedtime prayers tonight, Joe said a special thank-you to all of them for their had work, and for fixing such a nice supper.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
The Happy Days of Summer Vacation
Stella and John are having issues this morning.
"Stella, please stop fanning me."
"I'm not fanning you. I just want to fan in this spot."
A few minutes later...
"Mom, will you tell Stella to stop humming."
"I can hum if I want."
"John, why don't you go to a different room if you don't want to hear humming."
John goes to the other room.
Stella follows.
"Stella, leave John alone. Stop pestering him."
"I'm not pestering. I just want to walk into this room."
From the other room...
"Hmmmmm hmmmmmm hmmmm."
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Very Funny, "Naughty Stella," Story
I really try not to talk about all my children's naughtinesses. Primarily, I think it's unkind. But also, sadly, there are not enough hours in the day to get it all down. There are times, however, that something is so funny I just have write about it.
My kids don't drink much pop. It's very much a treat in our household. I needed some a few weeks ago for a Jello salad I made for a church dinner, so I bought a 12-pack of a Seven-up knock-off. I used two cans and the rest is supposed to be sitting under my bed, but it's instead just kind of stacked up in the heaps of stuff in my room waiting to be put away. It's been sitting there at eye level for the little ones, tempting them to sneak. I have so far only found one empty can squirreled away, but I really need to get the pop put in a more secure location.
I also have a 2 liter bottle of Raspberry Ginger Ale left over from the punch for Jeremy's graduation open houses. That bottle had been in a tote bag in the hallway; and yes, like so many other things in my life, it was waiting to be put away. Two or three days ago, I moved it into my bedroom for "safe keeping."
Let me explain here a little bit about our house design. Because the planners of the parsonage wanted to include a handicapped accessible shower in the main bathroom, the only tub in our home is in the master bedroom. Any time a little one needs a bath, he or she must wend his or her way through The Labyrinth of Mom's Disorder. And directly along this route is where I put the left over bottle of Ginger Ale. Alas for Stella!
Joe was in the kitchen yesterday and heard from the open doorway of our room the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened. He got up to investigate, and was met by Stella, coming quickly from our room, looking all intentionlly innocent. You know the look: the hands behind the back, eyes upward, just strolling along, usually accompanied by a nonchalant hum or whistle.
But Stella did the act one better. Instead of the nonchalant hum or whistle, she added a periodic, "Chhhht," sound, in attempted imitation of the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened.
"What's up, Stella?" Joe asked.
"Nothing, Dad. I'm just walking around saying, "Chhhht."
My kids don't drink much pop. It's very much a treat in our household. I needed some a few weeks ago for a Jello salad I made for a church dinner, so I bought a 12-pack of a Seven-up knock-off. I used two cans and the rest is supposed to be sitting under my bed, but it's instead just kind of stacked up in the heaps of stuff in my room waiting to be put away. It's been sitting there at eye level for the little ones, tempting them to sneak. I have so far only found one empty can squirreled away, but I really need to get the pop put in a more secure location.
I also have a 2 liter bottle of Raspberry Ginger Ale left over from the punch for Jeremy's graduation open houses. That bottle had been in a tote bag in the hallway; and yes, like so many other things in my life, it was waiting to be put away. Two or three days ago, I moved it into my bedroom for "safe keeping."
Let me explain here a little bit about our house design. Because the planners of the parsonage wanted to include a handicapped accessible shower in the main bathroom, the only tub in our home is in the master bedroom. Any time a little one needs a bath, he or she must wend his or her way through The Labyrinth of Mom's Disorder. And directly along this route is where I put the left over bottle of Ginger Ale. Alas for Stella!
Joe was in the kitchen yesterday and heard from the open doorway of our room the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened. He got up to investigate, and was met by Stella, coming quickly from our room, looking all intentionlly innocent. You know the look: the hands behind the back, eyes upward, just strolling along, usually accompanied by a nonchalant hum or whistle.
But Stella did the act one better. Instead of the nonchalant hum or whistle, she added a periodic, "Chhhht," sound, in attempted imitation of the familiar sound of a 2 liter bottle being opened.
"What's up, Stella?" Joe asked.
"Nothing, Dad. I'm just walking around saying, "Chhhht."
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
More Mud
As I was proofreading yesterday's blog post, three little neighborhood urchins were once again having a wonderful time.
Inge came in fussing about being all wet. The photo does not capture the true look, but please note especially the legs.
"Oh, Inge, are you girls playing in that ditch again?!?"
"No, Mama."
Hmm.
On the way out the door to check on the mischief makers, I ran into Stella.
"Mama, Donna pushed me and I got splashed!"
"What were you doing near the ditch anyway?"
"We weren't by the ditch, Mom. We were just swinging."
"Swinging? Show me."
I guess that explains everything.
Inge came in fussing about being all wet. The photo does not capture the true look, but please note especially the legs."Oh, Inge, are you girls playing in that ditch again?!?"
"No, Mama."
Hmm.
"Mama, Donna pushed me and I got splashed!"
"What were you doing near the ditch anyway?"
"We weren't by the ditch, Mom. We were just swinging."
"Swinging? Show me."
I guess that explains everything.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Inklegs
A week or so ago, Inge wrote on her shoes with red ink pen.
I get a bit irritated every time I see it.
But this morning, after I got her shoes off, I was presented with more reason for irritation.
Little stinker.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
More Girl Time
After I showed the girls how to do a blog post, they wanted me to show them how to put a picture on. I asked what kind of a picture they wanted and they said, "Of us!"
Hmmm. I'm not much good a the whole digital camera stuff. I can click a picture, and all, but to actually get the picture onto my computer,...that's where the hold up would be.
So I helped them make avatars of themselves.
First we have Stella.
And then we have Sophie.
And here's Donna.
And finally, Inge.
And that, girls, is how it's done.
Hmmm. I'm not much good a the whole digital camera stuff. I can click a picture, and all, but to actually get the picture onto my computer,...that's where the hold up would be.
So I helped them make avatars of themselves.
First we have Stella.
And then we have Sophie.
And finally, Inge.
And that, girls, is how it's done.
Here with my Girls
I have my little Sophie home from school today. She contracted this dumb influenza type bug some of my family have battled in the last few weeks. Fever and aches for her yesterday and recovery today.
Inge is feverish today, but not so much so that she can't sneak out to sit on our front porch and talk to the kitties. She and Donna are out there, now.
Sophie asked me what a blog is and how it works, so I am writing to demonstrate the process to her. She is leaning on my right shoulder and reading as I type.
Sophie asked if a blog was like a diary and I said that yes, it is. But that I can choose whether or not to allow others to read it and if I want, I can choose to allow only certain people to read it.
Stella is here also, leaning on my left arm. Stella does not yet read fluently, but she reads enough to asked why I kept writing Sophie's name. So now here is a "Stella" for her to read. She's already noticed and counted the previous two in the paragraph, but has not yet noticed this last one.
I love my girls and although I don't like when they are sick, I like the snuggles they give when they are.
I love you, Stella and Sophie.
Lest any others read at a later time, I also love Jeremy, Matt, Louisa, Elsie, Clara, John, Donna and Inge. And of course, my husband, Joe.
Inge is feverish today, but not so much so that she can't sneak out to sit on our front porch and talk to the kitties. She and Donna are out there, now.
Sophie asked me what a blog is and how it works, so I am writing to demonstrate the process to her. She is leaning on my right shoulder and reading as I type.
Sophie asked if a blog was like a diary and I said that yes, it is. But that I can choose whether or not to allow others to read it and if I want, I can choose to allow only certain people to read it.
Stella is here also, leaning on my left arm. Stella does not yet read fluently, but she reads enough to asked why I kept writing Sophie's name. So now here is a "Stella" for her to read. She's already noticed and counted the previous two in the paragraph, but has not yet noticed this last one.
I love my girls and although I don't like when they are sick, I like the snuggles they give when they are.
I love you, Stella and Sophie.
Lest any others read at a later time, I also love Jeremy, Matt, Louisa, Elsie, Clara, John, Donna and Inge. And of course, my husband, Joe.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Two Year Olds, Second Breakfast, and Coffee Breaks
A conversation with Inge this morning:
Mama: Let me get your diaper changed, Sweetie.
Inge: Nooooooo. I noooo biper change!
Mama: Do you want to get a sore bottom?
Inge: Nooooooo. I nooooo sore bobbom!
Mama: Then let me get your diaper changed.
I then grab her and start the business. During the entire ordeal, Inge argues in the way only a two year old can: Nooooo, nooooo, I nooooo want biper change! I nooooo want biper change!
Do we see a theme here? Yeeeeeees!
Sometimes my little ones are not hungry yet when they are woken at 6:30 for our family breakfast. I usually just leave their food on the table for the mid-morning snack they generally need. I've taken to calling it second breakfast, in the spirit of Tolkein's Hobbits.
Today, by mid morning, I had finally summoned the energy to get rolling and get the left-over rice custard put away. (Thank you to Louisa, BTW, for preparing it last night, for an easy pop-in-the-oven breakfast today.)
Inge came in just then and gobbled her food from earlier. And then, of course, "Muurrrrrr, Mama, muurrrrrr." (In case you need translation, this is an adament, "More," in two-year-old speak.) I was just depositing the bowls from first breakfast to soak in the hot sudsy water, so I told her she had to wait a minute.
Stella came in, "Could I have some more, too, Mom, since I finished mine like a good girl this morning?" Well, of course her first bowl had just gone into the sink.
So out comes another clean bowl, along with the left-overs that had been in the fridge all of five minutes. I got everyone situated and put the food away once again.
Then Donna came in and quickly finished her first serving. By that time I had wisely removed myself from the kitchen. So when Donna's inevitable, "Can I have more, Mom?" came, I could holler back, "That's all for now. It's all put away." With the additional, "...again," muttered under my breath.
In a loving sort of way, of course.
And now, my food for thought today, "Is it wrong to need a coffee break first thing in the morning?" At first glance, the answer is quite obviously an assured, "Yes. You haven't done anything yet. What do you need a coffee break for?"
But when I think in terms of the volume of everything in my life, I'm a bit more forgiving. I get up and immediately get breakfast on for eleven persons every morning. I rush around making sure six of those persons are ready for the bus at 7:07.
Between breakfast and that 7:07 moment when they all run out the door, the typical cacophony around here sounds something like this, "Find your socks. Did you brush your teeth? Let me check your hair? Is your backpack ready? Go change that shirt, it's not appropriate."
Probably also a, "Mom, I don't have any socks?" And my reply, "I didn't get them sorted yet, sorry, you'll have to dig in the sock box." (or insert missing clothing item of your choice, and an appropriate maternal response.)
In between the above will inevitably be a couple of older kid concerns, "Mom, I need a lunch for the knowledge bowl meet today?" Or "Did you sign my permission slip for the ski trip." Or my favorite, of course, "Do you have money for ...?" (fill in the blank with whatever).
And then there's the stuck zipper, missing gloves or hats or snow pants, wet boot liners, etc.
Once they are out the door, I breath a huge sigh of relief. I only sometimes have energy to clear the table before pouring that lovely cup of soothing warm brew, and settling down in the living room with a good book.
I guess it's not really too indulgent when described that way.
In fact, I think I need another coffee break just writing about it.
Mama: Let me get your diaper changed, Sweetie.
Inge: Nooooooo. I noooo biper change!
Mama: Do you want to get a sore bottom?
Inge: Nooooooo. I nooooo sore bobbom!
Mama: Then let me get your diaper changed.
I then grab her and start the business. During the entire ordeal, Inge argues in the way only a two year old can: Nooooo, nooooo, I nooooo want biper change! I nooooo want biper change!
Do we see a theme here? Yeeeeeees!
Sometimes my little ones are not hungry yet when they are woken at 6:30 for our family breakfast. I usually just leave their food on the table for the mid-morning snack they generally need. I've taken to calling it second breakfast, in the spirit of Tolkein's Hobbits.
Today, by mid morning, I had finally summoned the energy to get rolling and get the left-over rice custard put away. (Thank you to Louisa, BTW, for preparing it last night, for an easy pop-in-the-oven breakfast today.)
Inge came in just then and gobbled her food from earlier. And then, of course, "Muurrrrrr, Mama, muurrrrrr." (In case you need translation, this is an adament, "More," in two-year-old speak.) I was just depositing the bowls from first breakfast to soak in the hot sudsy water, so I told her she had to wait a minute.
Stella came in, "Could I have some more, too, Mom, since I finished mine like a good girl this morning?" Well, of course her first bowl had just gone into the sink.
So out comes another clean bowl, along with the left-overs that had been in the fridge all of five minutes. I got everyone situated and put the food away once again.
Then Donna came in and quickly finished her first serving. By that time I had wisely removed myself from the kitchen. So when Donna's inevitable, "Can I have more, Mom?" came, I could holler back, "That's all for now. It's all put away." With the additional, "...again," muttered under my breath.
In a loving sort of way, of course.
And now, my food for thought today, "Is it wrong to need a coffee break first thing in the morning?" At first glance, the answer is quite obviously an assured, "Yes. You haven't done anything yet. What do you need a coffee break for?"
But when I think in terms of the volume of everything in my life, I'm a bit more forgiving. I get up and immediately get breakfast on for eleven persons every morning. I rush around making sure six of those persons are ready for the bus at 7:07.
Between breakfast and that 7:07 moment when they all run out the door, the typical cacophony around here sounds something like this, "Find your socks. Did you brush your teeth? Let me check your hair? Is your backpack ready? Go change that shirt, it's not appropriate."
Probably also a, "Mom, I don't have any socks?" And my reply, "I didn't get them sorted yet, sorry, you'll have to dig in the sock box." (or insert missing clothing item of your choice, and an appropriate maternal response.)
In between the above will inevitably be a couple of older kid concerns, "Mom, I need a lunch for the knowledge bowl meet today?" Or "Did you sign my permission slip for the ski trip." Or my favorite, of course, "Do you have money for ...?" (fill in the blank with whatever).
And then there's the stuck zipper, missing gloves or hats or snow pants, wet boot liners, etc.
Once they are out the door, I breath a huge sigh of relief. I only sometimes have energy to clear the table before pouring that lovely cup of soothing warm brew, and settling down in the living room with a good book.
I guess it's not really too indulgent when described that way.
In fact, I think I need another coffee break just writing about it.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Only A Child
Mama: Donna, take your diaper off and try to go potty.
Donna: My potty chair is all apart.
Mama: Can you put it back together?
Donna: That thing is gone.
Mama: What thing? Oh, I see, the bowl, you mean. Where is it?
Stella: Oh, I saw it downstairs.
Mama: Eeww. yuck, What is it doing downstairs?
Donna: Inge was playing dominoes in it.
Cringe.
Donna: My potty chair is all apart.
Mama: Can you put it back together?
Donna: That thing is gone.
Mama: What thing? Oh, I see, the bowl, you mean. Where is it?
Stella: Oh, I saw it downstairs.
Mama: Eeww. yuck, What is it doing downstairs?
Donna: Inge was playing dominoes in it.
Cringe.
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