metamorphosis: July 2006

More Power, a la Tim

Climbing the Walls

Another steamy afternoon led us to seek shelter at the ice rink.

Last night was a cub scout rock climbing trip. One of my sweet children inquired about the

location - inside vs. outside. Have they seen any rocky cliffs in the corn fields? You can't really see what this is so I'll tell you. It looks a lot like an inverted well. It is a silo. And it is where one goes to climb in our neck of the woods. As it turns out, the outside of the building can be scaled.

This poor little boy spent the day in the stroller and created minor interference when permitted to roam. Today we'll do something that he will like, as long as it involves a stop at the grocery store. But then, he likes to eat.

I recently installed a site meter on my blog. This means that I can see who is visiting. Don't worry, there is no personal information. But I have noticed that my devoted readers have been popping in to see if I've anything to report. Not really, but here's something to read.

None preaches better than the ant, and she says nothing . . . Search others for their virtues, thy self for thy vices . . . Diligence is the mother of good luck.

Some quotes from Benjamin Franklin. I've been reading his biography by Walter Isaacson.

My children complain that they have no socks. So, a few weeks ago I bought them all a new package of at least 4 pair. Still the complaining continues. Then it dawns on me that this is

in no way my fault. I wash all the laundry at least twice each week. But here is the problem. The dear children drop their footwear all over the house and they never make it to the basket. This is the pile of 21 socks that I recently picked up in a trail from the TV through the kitchen and to the basement computer. Incidentally, I ALWAYS find an odd number, causing me to wonder if one of them has maybe sprouted a hidden foot. I'm seeing the wisdom of a friend who took away ALL the socks from her 4 children one summer for this very reason.

I'm almost always amused by Tim. Here are some of his recent entertainments.

A pileup in the Fisher-Price garage. It includes the Little People cars, Matchbox cars and Brio trains.

This is a snack. EVERY time I give him Graham crackers with peanut butter on them, he flips them over and sticks them to the tray. Sometimes he needs to remove fruit in order to accomplish this to his liking. It's more annoying that amusing, since it involves scrubbing.

The Tornado Birthday

Part I
We all awoke bright and early for the opening of the presents and homemade bagels. After lunch, the friends arrived for a pool party. All 3 girls were born within 9 months of each other. Megan is on the short side of average and has the middle birthday. The oldest is extremely tall for her age and has at least 6 inches on Megan. The youngest is extremely small for her age and Megan has at least 6 inches on her. They made quite a group! They enjoyed the pool. I heard one of them tell Megan twice that it was the best party she had ever attended. I'm wondering how often she gets out. My recipe for success was just add water. There were no games, contests, crafts, or organized activities of any kind. Just 98* and a pool.

Part II
It was a hot and steamy day, the kind where you can see the thick moisture hanging in the air. Megan asked during the afternoon if there was going to be a tornado. "Of course not. That is only in the spring." While I was preparing dinner, the girls were on the porch watching an approaching storm, pictured above. They were instructed to come inside if the lightening got too close. While I'm checking the third alarm on the weather radio in 30 minutes, in they march telling of blaring tornado sirens. So we head to the basement, meatloaf in the oven. Megan saved her new Jess doll, too, pictured above.

Part III

30 minutes later, we emerged from our cave, devoid of electricity and phone. (Truly, the archaic corded variety yielded no dial tone.) The meatloaf spent the last 30 minutes in a hot but disfunctional oven and was delicious! Megan enjoyed the strawberries and Cool Whip on her cake. She prefers straight sugar and never eats the cake. After dinner we headed outside with dozens of neighbor we've never even seen before. It was hot and dark inside and there was damage and tale outside. Lots of down trees and a roof off a nearby porch. Local officials are calling in the national weather service to determine if it was a tornado or a hurricane. Funny, no? The winds were >70 MPH and the driving rain leaked under our elevated front door, so technically they think it qualifies as a hurricane if the winds were straight-line and not rotating. Power was restored around 11 PM and so, life continues.

The Mouse

We did it. We finally made reservations. In lieu of our trip to Wisconsin, which was becoming very inconvenient, we're going to Disney World at the end of November. We'll be there for 4 days then we're heading to the beach for 3 days. Megan is already talking about how she wants to meet Mickey, so I guess a character meal is in our future.

We'll be taking the kids out of school for the week. Our adventures in homeschooling were more like a lap around the block. In a week's time, I learned that my children don't communicate with me. They are being taught many of the things that I want them to know. I'm going to supplement 15-20 minutes a day and in exchange, they don't have to ride the bus.

Over the weekend Megan decided that she does, in fact, require a birthday party. Luckily her 2 friends are available at 1PM on Wednesday for a dip in the pool. Pictures to follow.

Dog Days

Upper 90s all weekend and for the entire foreseeable future. Megan chose today to learn to swim. She had the dog paddle down but today she put her face in and got her arms out of the water while kicking like mad. She also worked up the nerve to jump from the side.

Little Boys

Da-do. You all know what I'm talking about, right? The syndrome that afflicted my first born that caused him to put 98% of his thoughts into trucks. Construction, freight, fire, maintenance. It didn't matter what type. The more the better. And they were all called da-do.

Car. You don't know what I'm talking about, right? The syndrome that afflicts my fourth born that causes him to put 98% of his thoughts into trucks. Construction, freight, fire, maintenance. It doesn't matter what type. The more the better. And they are all called car.

He'll be so disappointed when the moving truck pulls away from our neighbor's house. I can't wait to see his expression when another one shows up when the new people arrive!

Future Careers Defined in One Scrub

I wonder what my parents thought I would choose for a career way back when I was a wee one. I wonder what they thought about my siblings. I wonder if they were remotely close with any of us.

After seeing the results of the scrubbing of the pool, I have a few hunches for my own brood.

Drew selected a spot and completely scrubbed it until his area was shining. He wasn't concerned with the pace of his progress, only in the thoroughness of his task. His attention to detail leads me to say that he might be an accountant, computer programmer, or maybe a surgeon.

Ellen was charged with cleaning the stairs. She uses a FlyLady approach. Swish and swipe. Some cleaning is better than no cleaning. Don't worry about being perfect. Speed counts. Her ability to see the big picture would make her a good manager or motivational speaker.

Megan. She basically flitted about and had trouble staying focused on one area. She was very good at looking busy without actually cleaning anything. She'll love to hang out by the water cooler. And state government would love to hire her!

Ain't She Sweet

Although filthy, she looks sweet. Right? Wrong. She's brutal. Last, night while tucking in this little angel, she told me there was a white fuzzy thing in my hair. Never wanting to be seen with a stray fuzzy in my hair, I ran my fingers through the general area to rid myself of the foreign substance. She was still looking at me funny so I asked her to get it. She gets closer and scrunches up her face and without touching it say, "Oh, I think it's just white. It doesn't come out. It's like really old people. Like Grandma's." Does anyone want a filthy little girl?