yes we're going to a party party

happy birthday, little blog! it's too bad this mama is sore of throat and head or she'd write something to swirl for you.



a thousand, a hundred more, cups of coffee later (the occasional sugared tea, the paunchy, steaming cocoa), sipped while writing to the zing of too many cars on the should-not-be-so-busy street, to the bark of the neighbor's dog (the dog who rounds the corner and pees on my mother's flowers each morning as his owner pockets her hands and yawns at the day, that dog), with the early morning lazy clicking of keyboard, with the late night urgent zapping of keyboard, with child in lap, child at feet, with sun shining on (variety color) hair, shining in squinting eyes, with silver rain on glass, grass, falling slowly, storming black; all this and here i am with much to say and nothing with which to say it. maybe we need some sort of cake to celebrate? frosted cake with a candle and an ice-cream option.

i'm glad it's your birthday, happy birthday to you.

moons and junes and ferris wheels

who is this boy fantastic? it's a good thing that he's ever cute and delicious because the whine that goes along with his mouth, his running nose, his independent need for speed would make him otherwise unlikeable.

and, at long last, we've got some hair to stand on end!

better that i break the window

it's cold, but we try anyway. henry warns me to "watch out for the creepy man behind you!" and the man, who was nearly past me and barely behind me, chuckled and walked on.







the sun shines this morning. my desk needs attention again, the strange collection of paper and coffee cup piling up already. if i take care of it now, today, this minute, i may develop tidy habits and possibly win some sort of tidiness award. but we've got this sunshine and a relatively new box of crayolas and a string of paper to roll across the floor so it's hard to commit to things menial like the rearranging of paper and the washing of cups.

more lovely, more temperate

since the business and confusion of our holiday season yielded a stack of unsent christmas cards sitting in dust on the sideboard, we decided to toss the tired, golden greetings and look ahead. it's early yet, and even though it costs thirty nine cents too many to stamp and send love cards with the knee-socked swarthy mail delivery man to be postmarked and flown across the country, we're planning and smearing, and yes, we're early, which means there's a fat, heart-shaped cookie chance someone will feel a flicker of love warming in their mailbox.











valentine making without chocolate is impossible, no? "bon-bon!" jude chirps as he peels off the foil wrapping. henry drools some chocolate onto his paper: "i'm making paint mom! chocolate paint!" if you receive a cocoa scented valentine it will be quite by accident -- i don't believe those made it into the stack.









perhaps most interesting today is the clean surface of my desk! not a piece of misplaced importance to be seen!

ink

perhaps it's because, this way, i drink nearly ever drop brewed and feel no guilt since i'm not pouring it down the drain. or it could be because it's ever more so delicious made this way: hotter. stronger, certainly. not too far down the list would be the freeing up of coveted counterspace in the kitchen now that the behemoth krups is stashed away in the lower cabinet in case of glass shattering coffee innoculation emergencies. it could be the whistling teakettle and the measuring of tablespoons that never came with the quick gurgle of the auto-drip percolating percolator.



though the most honest excuse probably has something to do with obsessive addiction and insatiable craving, whatever the reasoning may be, the french press is my new favorite household accomplice!

silverfishes

the long wait for the paint to be dry and beyond stickiness is at last over. what they lack in order, they make up for in niftiness. wonderful, white, they are still yawning in places for more books to take up lodging.

they look like they came with the house. they draw the curious who share our drive closer, the slowing of a truck, a shiny suv, the slow, palpable steps of a dog walker as they peek in through the windows into the lamplight and at the newest deliciousness in this household.

i think we should have a book shower and those who love us most should bring books to the shelves, to us, so that we can eat them and store the bones of them in long lines, waiting to be picked at again for a later re-read.

sensational idea, no?

silly, i feel. silly and sheepish. but my mother mentioned it, too, so, it's not just me. i was looking at the sunlight on the taffy color of the floor and was thinking the only thing my study needs now, aside from a desk dusting and a gigantic fern, is a purring cat snoozing the afternoons, the mornings away. maybe we could get a cat from a shelter this time, from people who have evaluated the kittens for mental and physical health. . . pathetic, this mama, yes?

"her brain is badly battered"

ernie zips away through the dark for chinese. the long day is over and a long evening has begun. hoorah for friday nights and all that comes with them.

jude was crabby all the day long. he seems to have a harder time about the teeth than henry ever did. poor baby can barely smile. he doesn't even try to speak, puling out his demands while pointing with his fingers. he wanders the house with an ever-present whining sound coming from his lips. i don't think he even hears himself.



after much deliberation it has been decided that, unless we cannot prevent it, or unless the only other choice is to run through the town screaming and crying and ripping out our curling tresses, henry will no longer nap. if he naps, regardless of the time of day, he will not be ready for sleep until well after 10 o'clock in the night, which is far too late for these owls to handle. we need the dark, the night to pull ourselves together, to fold laundry without being helped, to sit in silence for more than four seconds. in addition to late nights due to daytime nappage, he still wakes up at the freaking crack of dawn. it doesn't matter to him that he's not had a full night of sleep. he wakes up anyway, bucks off the covers, and maneuvers his way through the day, all day, never stopping. he never stops moving. ever. seriously. we're talking constant movement for all waking hours, here.



when he does not nap he sleeps by 7 and most days until 7. we'll eat that sandwich, no?

however, eight hours, ten hours of daylight to endure these sounds, to meet needs constantly, to teach them to love one another, to know empathy, to sacrifice, has sent this mama into crazy land.

and, as crazy as i feel, i am also humbled: God never yells at me to stop being childish because He "just can't take it anymore." God doesn't complain about losing sleep and creative "me" time. God meets my needs with love and joy, patience and ever-so-longsuffering. in a way it's clear to me that i worship myself when i think i am entitled to more from my children than they are always able to give, demanding more of them than God demands of them, than he demands of me, me in all of my (ahem) maturity. and yet, though i see this, i can't seem to pull myself together, shut up my mouth, and serve with gladness. thanks be to God that He is longsuffering towards us, towards me!

january reading list

call me inspired.

in an effort to keep organized and to keep track, i'll be listing books i'm reading (ummm, or hoping to read) each month and (hopefully) reviewing them the following month.

the five love languages of children (chapman, campbell)
the secret of childhood (montessori)
blue like jazz (miller)
a way of seeing (schaeffer)

suggestions?

laugh, sit still, run away

coffee: you can sleep when you're dead

life returns to normal again. paranormal. i made dinner and cleaned up the mess before we ate. outlandish, i know. the christmas tree is shedding on the curbside, graciously tossed there by brother will, who spent many a january as a boy dragging the discarded christmas tree through his own backyard. the house is clean, the laundry is done. my study is still waiting for paint so the mess is messy, not unusual, only multiplied. i hope nothing important is buried and forgotten.

a newer student in a gigantic shirt and a ski mask informed me today that i looked like i had to be "at least thirty-seven years old!" since it's probably unprofessional to discuss my students on such a public place as this, i'll refrain from saying how i felt and what i wanted to say to him. it's a good thing that he's cute and does endearing things like pop tic tacs and bring good luck charms ("i'm really gonna need this tonight!") to lessons, that's all i can say. did i mention the hintings of a mullet on his freckled neck?



henry's awana teacher told me that henry was "such a delight." and no one can disagree. i am more delighted every day, and i get to see him at his worst, so, that's saying something.

jude snores in red jammies, a tummy full of lasagna and grape tomatoes. henry fights sleep while ernie holds him in a poppy lock: tight and fast and near-inescapable. oh, to be given the sleep thanklessly allotted to henry! to sleep and to drool on clean sheets stretched over and under down, snuggled beneath heaps of covers and comforter, for hours on end. uninterrupted dreams, until late in the morning, waking slowly and blinkingly with stretches and thoughts before thinking of slippers and the cold of the day! when i was in college i set my alarm on saturday mornings for seven, sometimes earlier. what a freak! those days of irresponsibility are long gone. we wake, all too soon, to bouncing and chirruping and altogether too much chipper cheerfulness. of course, one day, not too far from now, we'll be alone in our bed in the quiet and dim and will be sorry we were so crabby in the yesterdays that were this morning, are tomorrow morning, are next monday morning. sigh. a little contentment goes a long way. it just doesn't let you sleep in.

kisses, kissers

baby love. dowen's deliciousness is missed by no one.