Shrove Tuesday

Soon, we'll be heading out for a pancake supper. I must admit that Lent is one of my favorite church seasons. I love getting ready for the Feast.

I don't remember where I heard it, but the story goes: a young man dies in a car accident. He stands in judgment and in his defense says that his death was sudden and he didn't have time to prepare to "meet his Maker." The Lord says, "But I gave you every Lent."

And so, we get ready, because one day, the end will come. Many people wait for the Second Coming and try to see the signs that point to its imminent arrival. But the Lord will come to each of us in His own time, and it'd be good to be prepared.

I may not be here much over the next few weeks. I've got a lot of work to do.

I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do, and I ask Blessed Mary, Ever Virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord, our God.

"to-throw away"

I found the top of my desk. It was right where I expected it to be - under a huge mound of paper. The huge mound of paper is now three smaller mounds of paper.

One mound is in my "to-do" bin. It's a big mound.

One mound is in my "to-file" box. It's a bigger mound.

And one mound is in the garbage. It's the biggest mound. It's amazing how much can go straight from "to-do" or "to-file" to the garbage pile if only I procrastinate long enough.

My Busy Weekend Part III

Sunday was the usual morning of Mass followed by CCD.

Followed by let’s take Jenny for a ride so she falls asleep.

Followed by since she’s asleep, let’s run a few errands. But unfortunately, the 2 places we went did not have anything we needed. At least I had plenty of time to read the Sunday bulletin and the Operation Rice Bowl calendar the kids got at CCD. And Jenny and the baby had naps.

Followed by let’s go home and relax. Which we did. The kids played indoors and outdoors. Most of the afternoon we had the proper quota of children in our house – they just weren’t the right ones.

And the best part of the day came at evening when “The Big Man” came to dinner. TBM was supposed to come to dinner a few weeks ago, but canceled at the last minute. Dad had told the kids about TBM, a friend of his from work. He’s a pretty big guy. The kids could not wait to meet him. They were extremely disappointed when he didn’t come that last time. But Sunday night he came, he ate my stew and fruit salad and homemade rolls and declared them delicious. Of course, when one is a bachelor, any home cooking is likely delicious. But anyone who wants to come over and praise my cooking is welcome any time.

TBM is a nice guy. And although we are all special in the eyes of God, he’s not really any more special than the rest of us. My kids, though, absolutely love to have guests over. They think that guests are brought in strictly for their own entertainment.

When I was a kid, my siblings and I couldn’t wait to be excused if guests were over. Adults were boring. They sat around and talked. They asked annoying questions about schoolwork and hobbies. Catching their attention was dangerous. One might be expected to perform. We avoided being anywhere near them and preferred to go play. I don’t ever remember my mother even having to ask us to go outside or to another room because we were noisy.

My kids have not yet figured out that adults are boring. They think adults are very interesting. They can’t wait to see what kind of an adult might be coming over. If the adult is a woman, she might be given a bit more respect. In other words, my kids won’t generally jump on a woman as a way of saying hi, unless you happen to be Aunt Margaret. If you are a male guest, one of the boys will tests the waters by shooting at you with a toy gun with pretend bullets. If that gesture of hospitality is met with amusement, you next might be assailed with a volley of projectiles. Again, if the reaction is one of amusement, within minutes you could expect to be fully assaulted. And the girls will alternate between sitting on your lap and pulling your hair.

Fortunately, TBM likes kids and is an uncle of kids roughly the same age. I suppose I should be happy that my kids can relate to adults so well. Er, as long as the adult is fully capable of functioning at a juvenile level! But every now and then, adults, I’m sure, would prefer to just sit and do boring things like talk. At least, I would!

scrambled states

Assignment: scramble the names of five US states and give it to someone else to unscramble.

Fritz’s results:

1. s x a t e
2. a g v r n i i i
3. e t v w s i r i g a i n
4. h a m p s h i r e n e w
5. t e m v o r n

My favorite is # 4.

My Busy Weekend Part II

Saturday was overbooked.

First, everyone was tired and cranky. We didn’t get home from dinner until after 1030 pm. I had told the babysitting kids not to worry about putting my kids to bed. I don’t know why. My kids generally go to bed without TOO much fuss. So, they were bouncing off the walls until 11 pm, three hours after their usual bedtime.

Next morning, nobody slept in. It was Billy’s birthday, and they actually got up earlier and with more excitement then they did on Christmas morning. No joke. Jenny was particularly grumpy and I knew she wouldn’t last long into the day.

So we all went to the grocery store together. I needed fruit for a fruit salad. We went home. Jenny fell asleep in the car. Pete fell asleep soon after we got home. The rest of us grabbed a quick lunch, and then Bill took the three oldest to Chuck E Cheese which is what Billy wanted to do in celebration.

I was elated that I managed to dodge that trip. In fact, perhaps that was my plan all along and why I allowed the kids to stay up so late, knowing that Jenny would take an early nap.

{insert evil laughter here}

I had no rest while the gang was gone. Fortunately, miraculously, both babies slept the whole time. I made the fruit salad. I made a stew for Sunday’s dinner. I tidied the house. I did all the dishes. I was Die Ueberfrau. It felt so good to actually get things accomplished. Things actually stayed clean. Rooms did not get destroyed while my back was turned. It was great.

Then…

The gang came home. Bill’s parents and brother and sister came over for cake and presents. The little ones woke up. We had fun.

Then we kicked them out, and we packed the family up and went to the Cub Scouts' Blue and Gold Banquet which is a big, fun party with food, skits and awards. We were excited because Fritz was supposed to get his Bobcat badge. He completed all the requirements back in January, but snow had canceled that pack meeting. We hadn’t worked much more on his Wolf badge waiting for him to get his Bobcat badge. He was nervous, he admitted, but I told him that there would be lots of kids getting badges, so nobody would really notice him, and dad would be there with him.

His den was the second den to be called up. Everybody got a badge or a belt loop or something…except Fritz. No Bobcat badge. Nothing. When they got back to the table, I said to my husband, “Are you going to talk to his den leader, right now, or shall I?” Bill went. The den leader had made a mistake. He had completely forgotten that Fritz had completed the requirements and so he hadn’t even filled out the forms. Apparently, everybody else communicates via email to remind him of things, but we chose the old-fashioned way of telling him in person and he wrote it in his book and forgot to check it.

I felt so bad for Fritz. He was really upset, and Bill took him out and talked to him for a bit. When they got back, Bill announced that it was time to go. I couldn’t argue. How could I make him sit there and watch all the kids get some award, when he didn’t get anything (even though he earned something)?

It was a big bummer on an otherwise fun and happy day.

My Busy Weekend Part I

On Friday night, Bill and I took friends out to dinner. Their kids babysat our kids. Pete got to come along. We went to a nice place and had a great time.

It was nearly 8 pm by the time we actually got to the restaurant and Petey had fallen asleep on the way. He’s still in that nifty car seat carrier that pops out of the car without disturbing the baby. We carried him in and opted to just leave him on the floor of the tiny restaurant tucked near my chair instead of trying to squeeze a highchair at the table.

Immediately, a woman from another table comes over and asks permission to look at the baby. Permission granted, she proceeds to pick up his hand and stroke it, all while oohing and aahing over how sweet he is, how lucky we are, how she loves babies and can’t wait to be a grandmother. The four of us did the obligatory smiling and nodding, all of us internally laughing over the likelihood that she was assuming this was our first and only child and that we had no idea what the next few months would bring once the little guy became truly mobile.

And I’m also gritting my teeth and thinking that if this woman wakes up my sleeping child, I’m going to have to kill her.

Fortunately, she did not wake him up. He did wake up on his own about 10 minutes later, but went back to sleep in my arms, where he stayed for the remainder of our dinner. I regretting ordering the jaeger schnitzel over the salmon (fish is usually easier to eat one-handed), but I managed to eat it.

After all, he’s not my first and only kid.

would you like a pancake with that syrup?

When you are two years old, you get away with things that you don't when you are three years old. Jenny, who has more than half a year left until her third birthday, is milking this fact for all it's worth. But this morning, I'd really had enough.

Every morning, it's the same thing. She wants a pancake (the frozen kind I'd never touch, but the kids eat up). She wants syrup. She takes 2 bites and then gets distracted and leaves the table. She comes back 5 minutes later and all the syrup is gone. Yes, it's been sucked up into the pancake, but she doesn't understand that. When you are 2, your life experiences (or lack thereof) limit your intelligence...and reasonable and rational are not appropriate adjectives to apply to any toddler.

So she asks for more syrup. Lacking the stamina to argue with her, I give her more syrup. Repeat the above steps, and 5 minutes later she wants more. After that, she usually has eaten most of the pancake or decides she'd rather have Cheerios. This morning though, she wanted more and more and wasn't even waiting for the syrup to be sucked up into the pancake. She just kept arguing with me and crying and pointing to spots that were dripping with syrup and saying she needed more right there can't you see the dry spot, mommy?

I finally said no more. And walked away from her. She sat there for quite a while crying. I began to pray that she was sick, so I could give her an excuse for such deplorable behavior. Then I thought about how miserable I would be if she were sick, and retracted that prayer. She seems fine now. And the uneaten pancake is forgotten. She'll probably ask for Cheerios soon and ask for milk, and more milk, and more milk (the Cheerios aren't covered yet, mommy...they're floating, dear...no, mommy, more milk!).

my life

We're
very very busy
and we've got a lot to do
and we haven't got a minute
to explain it all to you
for on SundayMondayTuesday
there are people we must see
and on WednesdayThursdayFriday
we're as busy as can be
with our most important meetings
and our most important calls
and we have to do so many things
and post them on the walls.

Then
we have to hurry to the south
and then we hurry north
and we're talking every minute
as we hurry back and forth
and we have to hurry to the east
and then we hurry west
and we're talking every minute
and we don't have time to rest
and we have to do it faster
or it never will be done
and we have no time for listening
or anything that's fun.

- from the Philadelphia Chickens CD by Sandra Boynton

OK, my life is not that bad. But it is a jam packed weekend.

slow start

Most days all my kids are up by 8 am. Most days 4 out of 5 kids are up by 7 am (Katie has always been a late sleeper). Today, I had 2 kids up by 7 am and Billy only just joined us moments ago at 815 am. It's a slow start.

Normally I really like them to sleep until after 7 am. I'm up by 530, so I can get stuff done. But today, Bill went in late since he has to work late (it's Friday, you know, and that seems to be his new routine for Fridays - working past 6 pm). I'm happy that at least he's going in later than normal: the previous 2 Fridays he left before 6 am as usual and didn't come home until after 7 pm. And I thought that at least he'd be able to spend a few minutes with the kids in the morning. Silly me. I had no idea they would actually sleep in today of all days.

So Jenny and Fritz had Dad all to themselves. It was nice. Bill was sitting in the big chair-and-a-half and Jenny climbed on his lap. Then I saw there was just enough room for me next to him, so I cuddled in. Then Fritz jumped on top. And we watched a few minutes of the Wiggles - why not? - before Bill decided it was time to go. It was a few minutes of that quiet peace (except for the singing of the Wiggles, but I keep the volume pretty low) that I love so much. Just being together. Just enjoying a few minutes with no pressure to go somewhere, do something or rush along. Just sit, snuggle and thank God for each other.

Chinese take-out tonight?

I'm teaching myself to play the piano. Since the only person I'm trying to impress is myself, I'm doing great.

Last night, I told Bill that I could play the piano for an hour every day - easily. It's fun.

He gave me a very sarcastic look and said, "So could I. But it's not my job - either."

Ouch.

I wonder if he'll ever believe me again when I tell him that Petey wouldn't let me put him down all day and that's why dinner isn't ready...

The White Rose

Today is the anniversary of the executions of Hans Scholl, Sophie Scholl, and Christoph Probst who were half of the group called the White Rose. The White Rose was a German Resistance group during World War II.


Hans and his sister Sophie were caught leaving anti-war leaflets in a lecture hall at the University of Munich and Christoph was arrested the next day. They were all executed a few hours after being found guilty of treason.

I read this brief account of their life. It has no sources cited, so take it for what it's worth. It has no obvious inaccuracies, although I'm hardly an expert. I liked this part:

By a miracle the parents had a last opportunity to see their children. They
saw Hans first. Robert embraced him saying, 'You will go down in history. There is another justice than this.' Hans asked them to say farewell to his friends, and only when he mentioned one name very special to him did he weep, bowing his head so that no one should see. Sophie, when her turn came, accepted some little cakes that her brother had refused, saying, 'Lovely. I didn't get anything to eat at lunchtime.' She looked wonderful, fresh and full of life. Her mother said, 'I'll never see you come through the door again.' 'Oh mother,' she answered, 'after all, it's only a few years' more life I'll miss.' She was pleased and proud that they had betrayed no one, that they had taken all the responsibility on themselves. Her main concern was that her mother should be able to withstand the deaths of two children at the same time. But, for herself, she was completely composed.

Of course, no one really knows how they would act under certain circumstances, but I always felt that I would have been a Sophie Scholl had I been living in Germany at the time. I always saw my brother Pete working with me too. And, yes, I saw myself losing my head over the whole thing, literally, just as they did. Oh, I think I would have eaten the little cakes too.

And this part struck me as interesting for our current political situation:

It was striking to see with what incisiveness and logic Sophie saw how things would develop, for she was warm-hearted and full of feeling, not cold and calculating. Here is an example: in winter 1941-42 there was a big propaganda campaign in Germany to get the people to give sweaters and other warm woolen clothing to the Army. German soldiers were at the gates of Leningrad and Moscow in the middle of a winter war for which
they weren't prepared ...Sophie said, 'We're not giving anything.' I had just got back from the Russian Front... I tried to describe to her how conditions were for the men, with no gloves, pullovers or warm socks. She stuck to her viewpoint relentlessly and justified it by saying, 'It doesn't matter if it's German soldiers who are freezing to death or Russians, the case is equally terrible. But we must lose the war. If we contribute warm clothes, we'll be extending it.'

I think of how today so many people say that they oppose the war in Iraq, but support the troops. This makes no sense to me. How can you support the troops if you think they are engaged in what is often called an immoral war? Should the German people have supported their troops during WWII? Or should they have let them freeze, as Sophie felt they should?

Week 22

I am really happy to be in Week 22 of the school year. The schedule I follow is 32 weeks long, so we're more than 2/3 through. I can't wait for school to be done.

I often have people ask me about homeschooling. It's hard not to notice that I do, when I have all of my kids with me during the day. Most days, we stay home doing schoolwork, but occasionally we venture out, usually for milk. Thankfully, around here, lots of families homeschool, so I don't feel too odd.

But when asked about homeschooling, generally from someone who is considering homeschooling or someone who perhaps feels guilty that they aren't homeschooling or someone who thinks that I think they should homeschool, I assure them that it is a lot of work and things like cooking dinner or cleaning the house can not take priority. It's really not for everybody, and I don't think anybody should feel guilty if they send their kids off to the public indoctrination center, er, public school. {No, SERIOUSLY, I'm just trying to be funny.}

It is so hard, in fact, that I love any excuse to cancel school for the day. Don't tell the kids this, since they are convinced that I really enjoy sitting with them for hours on end as they whine about having to copy 5 measly sentences with neat handwriting and proper punctuation. I am such a slave driver. So, I love it when we take the day to go to a museum or take the week because of a holiday. The only bad thing about this is that I have voluntarily chained myself to this 32 week curriculum and I MUST get it done. ALL of it. So when we take one day off, I try really hard to cram all that missed work into the rest of the week. That way, the weeks won't run into the next one and we'll finish the school year in a reasonable amount of time.

So the poor kids are regularly working like dogs to play catch up if we take a break. Making it necessary to take another break because we've been working so hard, making it necessary to work even harder, and so on and so on...

I am getting a little bit better and starting to omit some things on the to-do list. The redundancy of some tasks is only useful if done on different days (in other words, 15 minutes of piano practice per day is better than 90 minutes once a week and 90 minutes of "Ode to Joy" will make you despise Beethoven).

And maybe next year, I will take the 32 week curriculum and immediately number the DAYS and think in terms of DAY 63, DAY 64 instead of WEEK 19, WEEK 20.

National Gallery of Art

Bill told a big whopper last night: "I had a good time today."

We went to the National Gallery of Art. I had a great time. It was a bit difficult: besides our 5 kids, we had our guest. Our kids were pumped up to go. I had printed a sheet with 13 works of art on it. The kids were on a scavenger hunt for these paintings. They had seen postcard-sized prints of most of these paintings and I had downloaded all of them to my screensaver a few weeks ago, so they had seen them flash by all day long. We talked about the art. They had tried to copy the art. When they would find a painting on their list they would be so excited I thought my own heart would burst.

Our ADHD guest was not as thrilled to be in a museum. The rules of talk quietly, no running, no climbing, no touching and the rooms with nothing in them except maybe a couch (oh, and some things hanging on the wall) combined to make him wish he were anywhere else. Bill made the mistake of threatening to take him out of there, so he then proceeded to try to earn this reward. Bill missed the Duerer Madonna because he was eating crow in an atrium for a bit.

Bill also didn't like that the security guards felt the need to stay within 5 feet of our group at all times, mainly because our ADHD guest looked like a loose cannon. I didn't notice this, but Bill insisted it was true. Perhaps he's paranoid...or maybe I just get those looks so often I don't even notice it any more.

Anyway, we saw all but one of the pictures on our list. We missed an Audobon, and I'm really sorry for that. We'll have to go back. We ran out of time and ended up blowing through a whole section of the museum on the way to find one Da Vinci ("oh, was that a Botticelli? maybe next time...."). I almost blew off three other paintings. We were eating pizza in the cafeteria and I suggested to Bill that we eat and then head home. Fritz had a piano lesson at 1:30 pm and Jenny was approaching nap time. Fritz heard us and said, "But Mom, I really wanted to see Homer. That's my favorite." What's a mom to do? We saw Homer, Picasso and Miro and then ran home.

That part, when Fritz expressed excitement and desire to see a painting, was the best part. Next best was Jenny, only 2 years old, saying TWICE, "There, Mom" and pointing to one of the paintings on the list. And then at dinner last night, we all discussed which paintings we liked best and talked about various techniques and themes and stuff...now that was really cool.

I love field trips.

parenting dilemma

Situation: 5 year old guest spending the night at our house. He and Billy will sleep on the floor of the boys' room. Billy has 2 pillows and offers one to the guest. The guest wants the OTHER pillow. The coveted pillow has a hand-painted cover on it that says "Billy". I tell him that it is Billy's special pillow and has his name on it. He begins to cry. Fritz offers his special pillow which is identical to Billy's pillow, except that it says "Fritz" instead of "Billy." This alternative is not acceptable to him and he continues to cry.

Which lesson is more important here?: that MY son learn that accomodating a guest is a polite thing to do? or that the guest learn that some things are simply not for sharing?

Solution: do not invite children who have no siblings over for a slumber party.

sexy new wheels

Ain't she nice?
Look her over once or twice.
Now I ask you very confidentially,
Ain't she nice?



My new wheels. It's in Texas right now, purchased on eBay. It'll probably take a few weeks to get here. The only thing I don't like is the color - but there are worse colors.

Admit it, you're jealous. haha

I never thought I'd drive a MINI-VAN, let alone a 12 passenger behemoth.

good morning, sunshine...not.

I wouldn't mind Jenny getting up before the crack of dawn so much, if only she woke up in a cheerful mood. Well, she wakes up cheerful, but then proceeds to be crabby for the next 2 hours.

And here's where, once more, I promise myself a nap this afternoon, but I know that it just won't happen.

vocabulary lesson

Instructions: use the word "wreck" in a sentence.

Fritz: Uncle Bill went to a wreck last year.

FYI: Uncle Bill went to Afghanistan, not Iraq.

what's the point? eBay gripe

We've been looking on-line at used vans. There are several at eBay we've been considering. They usually have a reserve price (an undisclosed amount that the seller will not sell for less) and a "Buy It Now" price if you'd rather just close the deal right now at their suggested price.

There is one van for $11,900 Buy It Now. The vehicle is a 2003 model, but it's going for pretty cheap because it has a few dents. And this is fine with me, because the other vans are all 2005 models and like new, but cost $20,000. So, I see huge savings in getting this particular van and don't really care about the dents.

So, the sale ends today. Last night we bid $10,160 on it. If you don't know, eBay will put you at highest bidder with the lowest price possible and automatically raise your bid for you to your maximum. We became highest bidder at $8500 but the reserve had not been met. Today, we were outbid by a bid of $10,200 which still did not meet the reserve. So what's the reserve? $11,800? hello? what's the point of even offering anything for bid?

strength in humility

It is my fervent desire that my husband makes it home from work at a reasonable hour tonight. Yesterday, when it was past time for him to be home and he hadn't called to say he was on the way yet, I called and reminded him that I really wanted to go for a run. Before midnight. He called an hour later and insisted that I get ready to go out the minute he came in the door. And he, wonderful man, didn't even complain that he had to hold the baby for the whole half hour and therefore didn't get to eat his dinner until 8 pm. This is the sort of support and encouragement that I require of him, but he usually forgets to provide. Of course, since he spends 12 hours in the office most days, I suppose I should be more understanding if his brain is a little fried and he has trouble remembering my long list of demands including being home for dinner and providing an opportunity for me to exercise.

I've been watching my friend's children for a few hours on thursdays to give her a break since her husband is deployed. She watched my kids on Tuesday for that FRG meeting and is insisting that she could do that every week. The baby is high-maintenance, but I'd keep him. The rest of the kids are pretty easy to please and require very little adult-directed entertainment. In other words, the older 4 kids know how to go play, as long as they have each other, and generally only need an adult around to provide food and drink and occasionally arbitrate. And if they are in an environment with toys they are not accustomed to, they could disappear for hours and maybe only pop up looking for the bathroom.

But I hate to ask her to watch the kids. I'm supposed to be helping HER. I know my kids aren't much trouble, but that's not the point. And, I KNOW, having been there, what's going on. It is VERY difficult for strong, independent women to accept help. On the one hand, having me watch her kids for a few hours provides her with a much needed break. I am sure that over the next few months, there will be times that those few hours are all she has to help her keep her sanity. But on the other hand, she can't help but feel that all those hours of help are adding up and that she OWES me so much.

This is, of course, not the case. It rarely is. Most of the time, people offer aid out of the goodness of their heart. A woman makes a meal for a friend or neighbor who is sick or has had a baby and does not expect a meal in return once health is restored. A neighbor who watches your kids for an hour while you take a feverish baby to the doctor is not looking at her calendar while you're gone and planning a time when you can watch her kids.

And I think most of us can accept the occasional assistance like that. The problem comes when there is a long-term situation that has one person "on the take" frequently and rarely able to reciprocate: for example, a serious illness. A woman who is herself sick or who is caring for a child, spouse or parent who is very sick probably isn't going to be able to help anyone else for quite some time, but may need the help of the community in the form of meals, child care or whatever someone could offer for months. Accepting help for months is a difficult thing to do. We want to be strong and having your church bring you meals twice a week for three months is not what a strong women does.

But, yes, it is. A truly strong woman can be humble. A truly strong woman knows she CAN do it all, and DOES do it all, but she knows that sometimes her prayers to God for strength are answered, not just with the spiritual stamina that she knows she needs, but also with a very tangible, very real strength in numbers as others help her.

I had much practice at the virtue of humility when Bill was deployed. I had to suck it up and ask for help many, many times. And sometimes the answer was no, and I had to ask someone else. It was horrible. I distinctly remember when I was very pregnant and the gutters on my roof were clogged with oak leaves. We were having heavy rains and the water wasn't able to drain away from the house so it was getting into the basement. I really didn't think it was prudent for me to climb up and clear the gutters myself: not only did my swollen belly keep me off balance, I had three little kids to keep an eye on too. I called four or five people before I found someone willing to come out and clean my gutters for me. Isn't that ridiculous? Who wouldn't help a pregnant woman with a deployed husband clean out her gutters? Can you imagine saying no?

Looking back, I don't even remember what the excuses were. I don't even remember who told me no. I just know that I had to ask for help for a basic need not once, but repeatedly. I guess God felt I needed to prostrate myself and beg, which is very humiliating and exactly how I felt. But I'm stronger because of it.

And so, back to my husband who can't get home at a good hour and my friend who wants to watch my kids. It would be nice to take an hour once a week to go for a run. I wouldn't be so mad at my husband for coming home late all the time if I knew that on tuesdays at least I could exercise. And I suppose that my friend's situation isn't the same as someone with a serious illness. She is capable of watching my kids, they would offer her a distraction, and she wouldn't feel the burden of "owing" me something.

And perhaps, this is God's way, again, of keeping me humble. I could be proud of myself for helping out someone in need and getting nothing out of it. Or I could let her reciprocate and thereby negate that accumulated balance of her "owing" me.

my clever son

Yesterday, Billy discovered that all the answers to his math worksheet are in the teacher's manual. He could not understand why I wouldn't just let him copy them down. Why in the world should he tax his little grey cells when all the answers were over there? It wasn't deviousness, it was pure 6 year old logic: you want the answers, there they are, let me copy them. He failed to see the value in having me make him calculate what was left if you took 2 bananas away from a monkey who had 7.

He is too much like me.

theological catch-22

From Catholic Exchange and Eric Scheske:

The absurd, Camus said, is the state of existence that is every man’s lot
because nothing corresponds to his highest yearnings. In order to understand what Camus is saying, consider how ridiculous it would be if there was no such thing as food, but we had an appetite for it. At some point someone would become aware of the odd juxtaposition of appetite and no food, and say, “What’s going on here? Why do we have an appetite if there is no such thing as food to satisfy it?” That’s the same thing Camus said about man’s desires and dreams. Every man hopes, but there is nothing to satisfy his hopes. Man naturally harbors desires, but there is nothing to respond to them. That, Camus said, is absurd.

And for an agnostic/atheist, he’s right. We’re full of yearnings, of desires for something higher, of hope for eternity. But what do we get in return? Disappointment, pain, and death.

Things are philosophically tough for an atheist.

Of course, from a religious standpoint, things are not at all absurd:

Moreover, those yearnings are there for a reason: they correspond to reality. The mere fact that we yearn for permanency — for eternity — points to
the fact that permanency exists. And because we know nothing material lasts forever, the permanency must be spiritual.

Now, having lived an absurd life for many years, I know it is very easy to know the solution and not so easy to live the solution. It is very easy to know that faith, hope and charity are the key to happiness, but it is not so easy to have faith and hope. And even more difficult to have charity, even if one does have faith and hope.

But, to deny oneself the pure joy that comes with having faith and hope and exercising charity is...absurd.

be my valentine

Yesterday I had 4 things on my to-do list:

#1: Call the piano technician about the problem we're suddenly having with the piano. I've realized that getting a piano based on its looks is as foolish as buying a car based on its looks. I called the technician, but he is recovering from surgery and refered me to another techinician (the one he subcontracted for the original repairs) who hasn't called back yet.

#2: Schoolwork - my #1 priority, as it always is. I was set up for success, had everything ready to go, but then the phone rang...

#3: Grocery store: we were down to our last half gallon of milk and were running low on Ovaltine, too!

#4: Take the kids to a valentine's party. I have an awesome friend whose husband is deployed. Her friend's husband was working until 10 pm last night, so they decided to have a valentine's party for their kids and the kids of 3 other friends and let the parents have a few hours to themselves. So, not only would they watch my kids, they'd buy the pizza too. How cool is that?

A simple enough day, but then the phone rang.

It was Bill. Did I remember how last month he mentioned an FRG meeting (Family Readiness Group..."ready" for your-husband-to-deploy-and-leave-you-a-single-mom-for-a-year group) and how he was supposed to get some info for me (like the day and time) so I could arrange to go? Yeah, that meeting is today. Leave in an hour even though the 3 littlest kids were still in PJs...and school is my top priority...and I don't have a babysitter.

So, I started to scramble for a babysitter, thinking I'd have to take all 5 kids with me and then the phone rings and it's the wife of a co-worker who is also going. There is only one parking space available for us to share, so we're coordinating a meeting place so we can leave one car and go together. But then she mentions bringing another woman, the wife of my husband's boss. I begin to panic, since I haven't found any friends home who can watch my kids, and my mini-van is completely FULL when I have all the kids. Not only do both these women have husbands who out-rank my husband, but they're a bit more polished than me on a regular basis. Perhaps they wore T-shirts with baby spit-up on them when they had babies, but they no longer had babies and I was having trouble visualizing one of them sitting on the floor in the cramped space between the seat and the door of the mini-van.

I finally got in touch with the woman hosting the valentine party and begged her to watch the kids. Thank goodness the kids like her, they are fairly well behaved, and she has a house full of toys. She had them for three hours. I felt bad.

And this meeting wasn't much of anything. The main reason my presence had been originally requested was to discuss a hoo-ah Christmas stocking I had made for my husband (and about 80 Marines a few years ago). But the powers-that-be who wanted to use my design as a fundraiser for other projects and a morale booster for troops overseas were not at this meeting, so I REALLY DIDN'T NEED TO GO AT ALL.

Since I had found someone to watch the kids, I had already forgiven Bill for the last minute notice. And he had no way of knowing that these other people wouldn't be attending that day, so I couldn't get angry at him over that. Plus I had that party to look forward to, so my spirits managed to remain high despite my inability to really get anything accomplished thus far.

Back home we did some school work, but not as much as I wished we'd done. It wasn't long before Bill was home and it was time to take the kids to the party. Bill and I debated what to do about dinner, and decided on take out. Then we debated where. But when we got there, he reminded me that we'd been wanting to try those burgers from Five Guys (supposedly the BEST burgers in the area). So that's what we had for dinner on Valentine's Day: delicious, but greasy, burgers and fries. We went home, put the sleeping baby (car seat and all) upstairs and sat on the living room floor (like old times...but it was mainly because the dining room table was still littered with schoolwork) and ate.

When we were done eating, Bill looked at the clock and we had about an hour until we needed to get the kids. We spent 5 minutes debating how to spend that time, while Bill laughed at how old we were (10 years ago, there would not have been any debate). Then Bill put his head in my lap and we started reminiscing about the last 15 years: when we met, how long it took us to fall in love, how we decided to get married, and even remembering how miserable we were for a few excruciating weeks in 2004 when he got back from Kosovo and we thought we could never be happy again (but then, within a few days, the storm cloud completely dissipated and it's been all sun every since). We engaged in this verbal foreplay for 5 or 10 minutes before Pete woke up, deciding for us how the rest of that hour would be spent. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

All in all, a good day. Completely unpredicted and unplanned, but that tends to be the normal course around here. And now, today, the ONLY thing on my to-do list: SCHOOL. I don't want this school year to linger past the end of May. We're likely moving this summer and I need to be done with this year before that chaos begins.

to sleep, perchance to dream

Pete has been taking long naps recently (1 or 2 or 3 hours long!). And he's been doing this 2 or 3 times a day. And I can just put him down in his crib without much fuss.

The first day he did this, I thought he was dead.

Then second day, I thought he must be getting sick.

The third day, I thought it must be a growth spurt.

The fourth day, I began to take it for granted.

The fifth day, yesterday, I began to pat myself on the back for being such an amazing mom.

haha

Actually, I've done nothing different in my parenting the last week than I have in the previous months. I think we've just hit a milestone and he's starting to get into a more predictable and regular phase. At least I hope so. Bill still thinks growth spurt, but I wouldn't think it would go past 3 days or so (based on previous experience). We'll see. For now, I'll just rejoice and try to use my new found time wisely.

pro-choice in some things

I'm personally opposed to the death penalty, but if someone else wants to do it, I don't feel I should intervene.

I've never seen the point to a hunger strike. The one on strike suffers and tries to prove a point to people who really just don't care. And then, if it goes on long enough, you just get so weak that they put you in a hospital and force-feed you with an IV. So, you basically inflict torture upon yourself. I just don't get it.

Ah-ha

I don't follow the news much. Just the headlines, not the details.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Bad bad bad. I'm going to hell. To not stay abreast of the latest scandal rocking Hollywood or the same old same old he-said-she-said of international politics is immoral, criminal, and downright stupid.

Whatever.

So, I knew about the Danish cartoon and the rioting. Bill and I do discuss current events, when we have a quiet moment, so we talked about it to some degree. But now I have a greater understanding of the TRUE motives. Kind of like discovering that Hitler targeted Jews not because they were Jewish (oh, please excuse me if that is a big shock to you), but because they were wealthy, middle class, and a threat to an unholy dictatorship.

Indeed, with Denmark set to assume the rotating presidency of the UN Security Council, the flames of the cartoon controversy have been fanned by Iran and Syria. This is critical since the International Atomic Energy Agency is expected to refer Iran to the Security Council and demand sanctions. At the same time, Syria is under scrutiny for its actions in Lebanon. Both Iran and Syria cynically want to embarrass the Danes to achieve their dangerous goals.

So, it's not really about the cartoon, it's about embarrassing Denmark. I get it. Thanks to Eric Scheske for the link.

snow

Woke up yesterday morning to 6" of snow and no power.

The snow was gorgeous. It had first fallen heavy and wet and so clung to every bare tree branch transforming stark black skeletons into bleached beauties.

Of course, these overladen branches were likely the cause of the power outage. The price of beauty.

After Bill cleared my car and shoveled the drive, I went out foraging for coffee and to see if the post chapels were preparing for Mass. The roads were fine, relatively. Plows had been plowing and the heavy snow compacted nicely. My ABS works fine, I discovered. You need to check these things every so often. But two of the post chapels had no power and the third had a pristine blanket of snow over the parking lot, which led me to believe that Mass was not happening that morning.

One Dunkin Donuts on post was without power, but the other was closed. Heaven help me, I nearly cursed. It's one thing to cancel Mass, and quite another to close a place of business. Especially one that serves coffee by the box.

So, I went off post and the roads were fine there too. I passed a McDonalds, but it looked closed. On second glance, there were two people inside, but I had already passed it. The nearby 7 -Eleven was open, so I got coffee but they were out of donuts.

The kids were happy to learn when I got back that Mass was canceled and they could go play. Bill and I kicked around a couple of ideas about what to do about Mass. We thought about doing a prayer service, but decided on going to the 5 PM drunkard's mass at a church off-post.

We were still without power by late morning. One of my neighbors, a southerner by birth, remarked that if the power didn't come on "soon" the pipes might freeze.

I managed to supress the urge to laugh.

I assured him that all he had to do was turn the taps open a tiny bit and all would be fine.

By noon, the temperature in my house was about 66 degrees. That's about 4 or 5 degrees less than I prefer to keep it. But it's also about where I used to keep it when money was tight. It was noticeably cooler, but not even very uncomfortable. Oh yes, that's why we invented things like sweaters.

The power kicked on at 1230 PM. It was nice to be able to make a hot cup of tea.

We left for Mass around 430 PM. Not only were the roads clear, they were DRY too.

The schools are closed today. They're closed in New Jersey too, but NJ got 18 inches or so. I'll have to do school really early this morning before the neighborhood kids knock on the door.

Cinderel - la

I only got up at 620 this morning because I could hear Jenny get up and I don't think it's a good idea for a 2 year old to wander around the house alone. Bad things tend to happen when the tornado-baby is unsupervised.

So I'm up and checking the weather forecast (currently predicting 8 to 14 inches...cool) on the internet. jenny is sitting on the couch watching Playhouse Disney. She looks up and asks me, "Why you no clean room, Mommy?"

Why didn't I straighten up the living room before I went to bed last night? It wasn't that bad: several pairs of shoes, a few baby toys, and a magazine littered the floor. I normally DO pick this stuff up at night. I hated the sight of the room when I stumbled down, but I was really tired last night. In fact, I was sleeping in the glider rocker as I put Petey down, so I stumbled down last night to spend time with my husband (who was standing in the parking lot talking to a co-worker when I finally called his cell phone to see where he was. I could rant about this, but there is simply no point).

So, I wasn't sure whether I should be pleased that my normal standard of housekeeping was noticed and appreciated by my toddler or whether I should feel that the nagging was starting early today. I finally just told her that I had been tired and that SHE should clean up.

So she did.

She just couldn't do Daddy's boots because they were too heavy (the things weigh about 20 pounds, I swear). But everything else she found a spot for. I should put her to work more often.

end of the week

My email is down, so I feel cut off from civilization.

Tomorrow's big dinner got canceled due to the impeding snow storm. Whimps.

Actually, I was dreading wearing those strappy-nothing new shoes out in the slush.

Bill flew to West Virignia, but he made it back to his office ok. He called 45 minutes ago to say he just had to check email and he'd be on his way home.

I guess he had a LOT of email to check. I just want the weekend to start. Since our Saturday night plans are off, but we have a babysitter scheduled anyway, maybe we'll do something else. Of course, if the BIG SNOW comes (and here in Virginia that means more than a half inch), everything will be closed, which is actually a good thing, since nobody in Virginia knows how to drive (in any kind of weather).

family pic

peaceful spirits

When Fritz was a baby, I had to teach myself some lullabys. I found the words to "Lullaby and Goodnight" and memorized them, and that one became a favorite. In fact, the boys still request a lullaby at night. Fortunately, The Dad is now an acceptable performer. And Princess Cupcake (Katie) has been recently requesting one too, after years of hiatus, more in an effort to delay bedtime than anything else.

By the time Katie was born, I was so overwhelmed with motherhood that I needed more than "Rock-a-bye Baby". I began to sing hymns and prayers. I have a very distinct memory of nursing Katie to sleep while sitting on the floor of the boys' bedroom. Fritz slept, but Billy (only 18 months old when Katie was born) refused to cooperate. I would sing the Divine Mercy Chaplet. I needed Divine Mercy.

From that time, my two favorite lullabys became "Immaculate Mary" and "Hail Mary - Gentle Woman." I liked them both for the quiet melody and the ability to repeat the verses over and over and interchangeably. And of course, I liked the fact that I was praying at the same time. In fact, there were days that those were my only "good" prayers. The rest of my praying seemed to be a desperate cry for help, alternating with screaming at my kids.

There is a verse from "Gentle Woman" that goes: "Blessed are you among women/ blessed in turn all women too/ Blessed they with peaceful spirits/ Blessed they with gentle hearts." There were many many times that these lines reduced me to sobbing for I knew that my spirit was not peaceful and my heart was not gentle (hence the screaming at my kids). I begged Mary to help me obtain the grace to have these virtues.

Last night I was nursing the baby to sleep in the glider rocker and I began to sing "Gentle Woman." It was a quiet moment: the boys were bouncing around in their room, but Bill was in charge and they were settling down; the girls were talking and looking at books in their room as they prepared to sleep; and little Pete was drowsy and happy. There was no pressure of a sink full of dishes (oh, they were there, I just didn't worry about them), there was no wishing that the baby would hurry up and sleep so I could get on with my evening, there was no urgent request for a cup of water or just for mommy's presence. There was just a happy baby, drifting off to sleep at his mother's breast while listening to her softly lift her heart up to God.

And as I sang, I listened to those words and I remembered those stressful days and I realized: my prayers had been answered. My spirit was peaceful and my heart gentle. Yes, I still scream at the kids. But not all the time and not with that same desperation. Yes, there are nights when everybody needs me, and only me. And yes, there are many nights when I wish the baby would go to sleep (and the toddler too), so I could get the dishes done and maybe read a chapter in a book or have a half hour of conversation with my husband before my bedtime. But not all the time. Now I have many nights were I can quietly sing to the baby and just enjoy those precious few minutes that will soon disappear never to return.

poetry

I just added on the sidebar links to poems the kids are working on. Billy just started his poem last week. I love RLS. His poems for children truly capture the workings of a child's mind. They are fabulous and easy to memorize.

Fritz has been working on his poem for WEEKS. It's a tough poem. It has a tricky rhyme scheme which makes it harder to remember. I admit, it took me at least a week to get comfortable reading it, and although I have it memorized if I can go through it without stopping, I have a hard time starting halfway through.

But over these weeks, I've really grown to appreciate this poem. I'm glad it has taken so long for him to learn it, and I've really grown to appreciate the exercise of memorizing poetry in general. I've spent quite a bit of time comtemplating who the narrator is, what really happened to the dog and cat, and if the audience believes the narrator's story.

When I was in the 2nd and 3rd grades, I had to memorize a poem for school. I won my class's poetry contest and had to go on to compete in front of the entire school for 1st - 3rd grade champion. I won both times, had my picture in the paper - my 2 minutes of fame (alas, that was the end of it). I didn't think it was a big deal, but now I do. Memorizing poetry is a dying practice.

new shoes

I stopped working for a paycheck over 6 years ago. I got rid of most of my professional wardrobe, keeping only a few suits that I could wear to weddings or funerals or just in case someone hired me for a speaking engagement (haha). I also kept my nice shoes: two pairs of modest, practical pumps (one navy, one black). They weren't cheap shoes, but I have gotten my use out of them. And Bill is very handy with polish and can make them look like brand new. But they are modest, practical pumps - maybe a 1 1/2" heel. Nothing fancy or decorative. And I have worn them to every dressy function I've been to in the last 6 years.

So, now there's this formal dinner on Saturday which is no more special than any other formal dinner I've been to, but I got a new dress and decided that I should get some new shoes to go with it. I went to Walmart and they had EXACTLY what I was looking for: 3" heels, barely something there over the toes and another barely there strap around the ankles to keep the things on. Perfect. Oh, and the price was perfect too: $8.92. Can't beat that.

And the best part was the look of shock on Bill's face. "I never would have expected you to wear something like that," he said. I don't know why. Doing something unexpected is just like me.

happycakes

Princess Happycakes (that would be Jenny) can't wait for her birthday. My "happycakes" coming soon, Mom? she queries multiple times every day. Sure it's coming soon, I tell her. Eight months really isn't a long time. But then I remind her of all the other birthdays to come first: Billy's, mine, Fritz's, Petey's, Katie's, Daddy's and then finally hers. In other words, she had the most recent birthday in our immediate family and has to wait the longest. But time does fly, for us grownups at least, so it will be her birthday before we know it. Heck, I'm afraid to go to sleep at night for worry that I'll wake up and one of my kids will be heading off to college.

Just kidding. I'm so tired at the end of the day that it is no trouble at all for me to fall asleep. Usually I lay my head down and think, "Dear God, thank you for.....zzzzzz"

Speaking of birthdays, all of my kids are born in the second half of the month. {mental note: plan better next pregnancy} This means that it hits a child's birth month, for example, Billy's birthday is the 25th of this month, and we all suffer through the agony of waiting for all those days to pass. Well, the birthday child suffers and the rest of us suffer listening to his suffering. February is the l.o.n.g.e.s.t month of the year because there are no distractions in the weeks leading up to the "big day." At least for Christmas, there is decorating and baking and shopping. For the spring and summer birthdays, we can do stuff outdoors and keep the mind off the calendar. But February is just one long month of wait.

Only 17 more days.

weather forecast

wow. I just noticed that the forecast for today's weather is calling for scattered flurries. Is it really winter? Gee...with all the balmy 60 degree days, I swore it was spring.

let's see how long it lasts

I just put the baby down for a nap in his crib. He's asleep, but his eyes are open.

Freaky.

home sweet home

It was a very busy and highly emotional weekend. We are all glad to be home.

Saturday morning, Fritz made his first Reconciliation. It was nice. But, as usual for me, I struggled to rein in those tears that always come when he, my oldest, meets a milestone. I cried when I packed away those 0-3 month sized clothes when he was a few weeks old. I cried when he cut his first tooth. I cried when he lost his first tooth. And now here he is, examining his conscience and doing his penance. He diligently wrote down his sins on Friday, recounting them to his father and I with every confidence of our continuing love (of course, we knew everything). I had him go to the elderly priest who baptized Peter. He gave Fritz a beautiful prayer card with Mary on it when Fritz was done. It was a wonderful morning.

Then home as it's starting to rain. Pack up the car and off to New Jersey to visit old friends. As we neared Monica's house where we stayed, we made a slight detour to pass St. Greg's and swing through our old neighborhood. Billy started to cry about missing NJ, but my words of comfort were no help since I was crying too. Bill just smiled and shook his head and squeezed my hand. Pitiful.

Sunday began with mass and standing in the vestibule talking. Then brunch with Bill's parents, then over to Lena's house and then on to Kathy's house for her huge Superbowl party (and the reason we made the trip). Oh how I miss these women. Where else can I stand around the kitchen talking apologetics? Back to Monica's house and a relaxing Monday morning talking about homeschooling and politics and religion.

This was better than a trip to a spa.

Not that I've ever been to a spa.

But better.

After lunch, we headed to another friend's house that was on the way home and had dinner. We got home really late last night, but the kids all transitioned into their beds with no fuss.

And today is clean up and organize day. The kids will be happy to have another day off from school. It's an administrative holiday.

At 820 this MORNING I announced, "OK everybody. Time to get pajamas on!" When the result was CHEERING, I did a quick rewind and replay and then corrected myself, "No, it's time to get DRESSED."

Queen of the castle

Being a stay-at-home mom is only mundane for those who lack creativity or who aren't up to a challenge. I mean, what's boring about taking 5 kids shopping for tennis shoes? I think training for the Olympics - perhaps figure skating - is a worthy comparison. You do the same moves, the same jumps, the same twirls over and over and over. And then you perform once or twice and hopefully get thunderous applause. And even if you fall down, you know you've done better than most people can do. So moms remind the kids to say please and thank you at least 5 times a day (per child) for approximately 17 years and change diapers ad naseum and on and on and on and then one day your child is grown up and you, hopefully, get thunderous applause.

From Catholic Exchange: how the radical feminists think that going to a dreary desk job and crunching Excel spreadsheets is somehow superior to stimulating and developing the intellect and psyche of our future leaders, scientists and doctors and being queen of a castle where all your subjects think you are the smartest AND most beautiful woman in the whole world.

And then there's abortion to make sure that all women get to have those dreary desk jobs without the baggage of kids. Why women have allowed themselves to be duped into accepting something that only benefits MEN and a greedy for-profit industry is beyond my ken. Because of abortion, women can now be used as a vehicle for sex with no commitment at all by their lover. I mean, if a woman were to get pregnant, the man can walk away and tell her to get an abortion. At least 50 years ago, he felt some guilt. And perhaps the risk of pregnancy was enough to keep the clothes on when the car got steamy.

And if 8 people died as a result of a new vaccine to prevent colds and flu, the vaccine would be pulled and the company bankrupt.

breakfast time

All the kids got up today at roughly the same time. The requests for food and drink started to come rapid-fire and I set off for the kitchen...but, no, the baby isn't happy anymore, so back to the living room to pick him off the floor and there I go to do my morning chores with baby on hip. As usual.

I'm stooping to retrieve clean dishes from the dishwasher and multitasking the preparation of Aunt Jemima frozen waffles and pancakes, cereal, milk, and juice and internally laughing again at the (male) friend who was shocked when I confessed to chronic lower back pain (mild) for the past, oh, 9 months or so (last part of pregnancy into 7 months of baby), when I feel wetness on my arm.

I pause to check the baby's undershirt, suspecting a very wet diaper (it's first thing in the morning), and finding that it's not urine but it's sure yellow.

sigh.

No wonder the kid was fussing. What a beautiful start to the morning! And my PJ sleeve is yellow too. And now I'm reminded of the growing pile of laundry...



Here's Pete at breakfast yesterday.

"Do you mind, Ma? I'm trying to eat."

formula for protein sensitivity?

Maybe this works for some babies, but given the fact that I could not put my baby down for a nap AT ALL yesterday and given the excessive amount of gas and spit up I had to deal with as a result, I believe, of consumption of this product, I give this formula a thumb's down. Pete's food problems apparently go beyond just milk protein sensitivity. I'm sticking with breastmilk alone (except for that dinner in a week) for a few more months. And no milk, cheese or yogurt for me either. :-(

more intolerance of intolerance

Thanks to Mark Shea for this interesting read. Too many good quotes, so I settled on this one:

Replacing the zealotry of religious intolerance with a secular version is hardly an enlightened alternative.

might as well be grandma's flannel nightgown

According to Bill, my fleece PJs are decidedly unsexy. That's too bad - for him - since they are so warm and comfy. I think I can actually turn the heat down a few degrees at night since I find myself kicking off the covers. Something soft and clingy will have to wait until spring.

I'm feeling a bit anti-tolerant today

Since I really don't have a chance to watch TV news or read the newspaper, all my news comes from on-line browsing and from my husband who actually has an opportunity to discuss global issues with people old enough to know what a "global issue" is. I didn't even know that they increased the price of first-class postage by 2 cents until 2 weeks later. Lame.

But is this making the news? I'm all for treating all religions as equals, unless of course a religion thinks it's OK to violently target another religion, and then said religion needs to have its be-hind whupped. I don't expect the Muslim world to accept Christianity as equal, but they better start tolerating it. Yeah, sure, it's a few bad apples...or it's not Muslims, it's terrorists acting in the name of Islam. Right. And the evidence to support the idea that the general Muslim population is opposed to this behavior is where? The government and religious programs to teach tolerance and goodwill to people of other religions are...where?

run away

It comes as no surprise to me: running without a cold/cough feels better than running with one.

Another no-shocker: running without a jogging stroller is easier than running with one.

Now, if I could just remember to double tie my laces before I leave, my run might be wholly enjoyable.

The on-again, off-again goal is currently on: run the Army Ten Miler this fall. The only risk to it being off is, well, moving to Kansas. My currently little run is just over 2 miles, and I'm very proud of those two little miles. But this month, I need to get it up to 3. I did 3 when I was visiting my sister at Thanksgiving time, so the distance doesn't bother me. But my lame 12 mph airborne shuffle means that Bill is stuck with unhappy baby for 45 minutes instead of a half hour.

He tried to give Pete a bottle last night while I was gone, and Petey did drink some of it. But the poor guy's been erupting gas bombs out one end or the other all night long. Lovely.

On the 11th of this month, I'm going to a formal dinner with Bill and all the kids, including the lucky baby who usually gets to tag along everywhere, will stay with the sitter. But I think after dinner when there is usually a guest speaker who talks about pretty boring army stuff, I might just have to slip home to nurse the baby to sleep. I'm sure Bill will clue me in on whatever I missed. There's a rule in the army: the higher in rank you get, the longer your speeches are. And if the guy professes an intention to "keep it brief", add 15 minutes to what you think it might take.