Sehnsucht

True dat.

2012-02-17T09:50:00.001-05:00

(HT: Rod Dreher)

Disconnect

2012-02-16T22:52:00.003-05:00

I'm sitting at the basement computer; behind me is John's little desk and chair. On that desk lie two pieces of paper. The first is his Grammar work from today. Here's what he translated, tossing it off as if he were dictating to a secretary:

Iohannes testimonium perhibet de ipso et clamat dicens, "Hic erat quem dixi vobis, 'Qui post me venturus est ante me factus est quia prior me erat.'" Et de plenitudine eius nos omnes accepimus et gratiam pro gratia. Quia lex per Mosen data est, gratia et veritas per Iesum Christum facta est. Deum nemo vidit umquam; unigenitus Filius, qui est in sinu Patris, ipse enarravit.

And then almost as effortlessly, back from English into Latin:

John gives a testimony about him and shouts, saying, "This man is whom I said to you, 'He who is about to come after me is made before me because before me he was.'" And from his fullness we all have received and grace for grace. Because the law is given through Moses, grace and truth is made by Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God; the only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, himself has explained.

Not only does he translate it, he comments on it, or rather comments on the comments of St. John Chrysostom, which he's listened to in the lesson.

That's the first piece of paper. The second is a worksheet I made for his math practice, taken from Ray's New Primary Arithmetic (the math counterpart of the McGuffey Readers):

1 and 2 are 3
2 and 1 are 3
2 and 2 are 4
3 and 2 are 5
2 and 3 are 5...

Thought for the day

2012-02-15T22:18:00.000-05:00

Enjoy the little things... for one day you may look back
and realize they were the big things.
(Robert Brault)

Plans for Lent

2012-02-14T22:38:00.000-05:00

The last three weeks of Ordinary Time before Lent are the lesser-known liturgical season of Septuagesima, traditionally the time for getting all one's ducks in a row for Lent. Here are a few ideas on the radar for the upcoming season:

"We fast, abstain, mortify the flesh, give alms, and think more of charitable works. Awakening each morning with the thought, "How might I make amends for my sins? How can I serve God in a reparative way? How can I serve others today?" is the attitude to have."

Prayer

Consecration to Jesus through Mary. (starting on Feb. 20, so as to end on the Feast of the Annunciation)

Daily prayer of St. Ephraem, Doctor of the Church (d. 373):

O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despondency, lust of power, and idle talk; But grant rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to thy servant. Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother; for blessed art Thou unto the ages of ages.

"Praying the beautiful Seven Penitential Psalms (Psalms 6, 31, 37, 50, 101, 129, and 142) is a traditional practice. It is most traditional to pray all of these each day of Lent, but if time is an issue, you can pray them all on just the Fridays of Lent, or, because there are seven of them, and seven Fridays in Lent, you might want to consider praying one on each Friday. These Psalms, which include the Psalms "Miserére" and "De Profundis," are perfect expressions of contrition and prayers for mercy. So apt are these Psalms at expressing contrition that, as he lay dying in A.D. 430, St. Augustine asked that a monk write them in large letters near his bed so he could easily read them."

"Also, on all Fridays during Lent, one may gain a plenary indulgence, under the usual conditions, by reciting the En ego, O bone et dulcissime Iesu (Prayer Before a Crucifix) before an image of Christ crucified."

For the kids: Print stations of the cross cards and make stations boxes (scroll down) to use with them. Learn Lenten hymns.

Fasting

Fasting not recommended for nursing mothers, so go vegetarian instead

Mortification

Negative: Give up sweets, snacks, and surfing.

Positive: Clean the house for 20 minutes a day, for 30 days. I can find 20 minutes. Maybe not all in one chunk, but hey...

Penance

For the kids: Make sacrifice beads... and use them.

Daily examination of conscience.

Weekly confession. "A beautiful old custom... is to, before going to see the priest, bow before each member of your household and to any you've sinned against, and say, "In the Name of Christ, forgive me if I've offended you." One responds with "God will forgive you." Done with an extensive examination of conscience and a sincere heart, this practice can be quite healing."

Reading

"In addition to mortification and charity, seeing and living Lent as a forty day spiritual retreat is a good thing to do. Spiritual reading should be engaged in (over and above one's regular Lectio Divina). Maria von Trapp recommended "the Book of Jeremias and the works of Saints, such as The Ascent of Mount Carmel, by St. John of the Cross; The Introduction to a Devout Life, by St. Francis de Sales; The Story of a Soul, by St. Thérèse of Lisieux; The Spiritual Castle, by St. Teresa of Avila; the Soul of the Apostolate, by Abbot Chautard; the books of Abbot Marmion, and similar works."

Still thinking about the almsgiving category...

Am I really going to do all these? Of course not. Just mulling over the options.

At the dinner table

2012-02-13T22:55:00.002-05:00

Scene: Two brothers, bickering.

Thomas: You can't tew me what to do. I'm God.

John: Oh yeah? Well, I'm St. Michael, and I'm going to sit on your head.

Thomas: You can't do dat. God is a foowit. I don't have a body... except... maybe... [dreamily] a teeny tiny one. Made of gwoo, cuz God hoes everfing togedder.

Ghost writer

2012-02-08T22:25:00.000-05:00

Today's post comes to you courtesy of John, who insinuated himself between me and the keyboard when I was starting an email. Here's how he finished it:

BOOGAAAAAA!!!!!! WHY SHOULD I WRITE ALL THESE SILLY WORDS?I DO NOT KNOW WHY!/ UNLESS IT IS TO ENTERTAIN THE BABY.HO/HO! AM I SILLY, OR WHAT

Thumpings and bumpings

2012-02-07T22:19:00.000-05:00

John was in a foul mood this morning after breakfast, and some ugly language started floating up the basement stairs. I went down to investigate and found him struggling with his Lego Technic set, trying to build a tow truck and badmouthing the directions.

Returning upstairs to finish my breakfast, I could hear his irritation level rising as he railed against the stupidity of the instruction booklet. Suddenly his snarling and whining turned to full-blown screaming, and I ran down the stairs again. He was lying on his back on the couch, wailing at the ceiling and shrieking every unpleasant word he could think of.

And thus he learned an important lesson: when flinging oneself over backwards in one's righteous anger and frustration, ascertaining beforehand whether one's younger brother has removed all the couch's back cushions is advisable. Otherwise whack goes one's head on the solid wood frame, and a glorious goose egg ensues.

When the tears finally dried, he soldiered on undeterred. "I'm going to finish this tow truck and then use it to take this couch to the dump," he declared.

Goose theology

2012-02-06T21:49:00.000-05:00

My grandfather is fond of puzzles of all sorts, and gave us this one many years ago: A farmer is on one side of a river with a fox, a goose, and a bag of corn. His boat is so small that he can only carry one of these across at a time. If the fox and goose are left together unattended, the fox will eat the goose. If the goose is left with the bag of corn, it will eat the corn. How does the farmer get all his belongings across the river uneaten?

We enact this conundrum daily, and have determined that John is the fox, Thomas the goose, and Stephen the bag of corn. So much for the middle-child-as-peacemaker.

***

I don't take all three of them out in public by myself; last Friday Aunt Margaret came as reinforcements, and we all went to Mass up the road. The fox and the corn waited with me in the vestibule while the fidgety goose went outside with Margaret. As they walked past the chapel, Thomas pointed out the fire escape door.

"What's dat dough fo'?" he asked. Then, without waiting for her answer, "Oh, I know. It's for God to come in to get aw da dead people."

Taken aback, Aunt Margaret opined that perhaps God didn't need doors.

"I know," he agreed. "But dat's how He gets da dead people out."

Seeds and snow

2012-02-05T21:50:00.002-05:00

We ordered our seeds today! Hooray! At our house, we stave off the after-Christmas blues with piles of seed catalogs. The University of Maryland Extension has been a big help in organizing garden tasks by month, recommending plant breeds that have proven to grow well in our area, and offering easy-read information on everything from cover crops to composting.

Then, having chosen the plants we want and the varieties that should grow, the Mother Earth News Garden Planner is invaluable in mapping out what will go where in the garden, taking into account crop rotation, size of plants, and density of planting. It's also just way too much fun.

After Joe's fling with the backhoe this fall, we now have twelve 5'x20' beds to fill. And they're all planned out! From the back left corner:

Bed 1: Permanent bed of raspberry, blackberry, and blueberry bushes.

Bed 2: Red and yellow potatoes.

Bed 3: Shell and sugar snap peas.

Bed 4: Permanent bed of asparagus and rhubarb.

Bed 5: Sweet corn.

Bed 6: Brassicas (kale, broccoli, cabbage, radishes) and alliums (leeks, red and yellow onions).

Bed 7 (front left): Melons (cantaloupe and watermelon).

Bed 8: Tomatoes, sweet and hot peppers, sweet potatoes.

Bed 9: Beans, green and dry.

Bed 10: Roots (carrots, beets) and greens (Swiss chard, various lettuces, spinach).

Bed 11: Permanent herb bed.

Bed 12: Squash (summer, zucchini, butternut, and winter) and cucumbers.

This month we'll be starting the earliest crops in the new fluorescent grow-light setup we were given for Christmas. So while we study by the toasty woodstove and watch the snow fall, there will be tiny baby plants growing nearby, reminding us that spring is coming.

Canons and candles

2012-02-04T21:36:00.002-05:00

I'm still recovering from Candlemas.

I stopped in at the local gift shop that afternoon and picked up a load of beeswax candles made by a local artisan. As I brought the armload to the counter, the saleslady cocked an eyebrow at me. "These special favorites of yours?" she asked. I proceeded to royally muff my opportunity for joyful evangelization by stammering out some limping explanation of the Feast of the Presentation and what was presented where and why and what in the world it had to do with candles, which I wasn't really sure, but anyhow it was a tradition, and could I please just have the candles and go in peace?

Sigh.

I cheered up when we got to the priory. The actual blessing of the candles went on for two program pages; those candles were BLESSED by the time Dom Daniel got through with them. Frater John carried a bundle under his arm like a sheaf of wheat as the two of them moved down the communion rail. A Latin blessing, a candle swiftly plucked from the sheaf and presented, a kiss of the candle, a kiss of the hand that offered it, and then back to our pew. A flame was passed down and multiplied, twinkling from person to person as the church filled with incense and the smell of honey.

And then the procession began, down the aisle, down the main steps and out into the dark and the wind. Candles went out, heads huddled together to relight them, more candles went out. Muffled giggling mixed with the schola's chant. Around the back of the church we stepped carefully, mindful of Dom Daniel's earnest admonition to "make sure the [Christmas] lights are on your right, not on your left -- if they are on your left, you will shortly be tangled hopelessly in the thicket."

We bent our programs as closely around the flames as we dared to shield them from the wind, and still they winked out again and again. (Note the melted wax and soot adorning my music sheet below.) But the congregation's answering chant refrain was mesmerizing, and I was almost sorry to come back inside to the sleepy warmth, where the tiny fires suddenly ceased their wild dancing and stood straight and still at attention.

The Mass was spellbinding. When it ended and I shook off my daze and checked the time, two and a half hours had slipped by.

We will be going back. Click here to learn more about the Canons Regular of the New Jerusalem, and here to learn about Our Lady of Walsingham, to whom they have a special devotion.

Smitten

2012-02-03T20:49:00.002-05:00

I am gonzobonkersnutso over this baby. Argh.

All he does is smile and coo, all day.

And giggle. Can't forget the giggles.

We suspect that's why he's got naught but fuzz on that little head; all his hair's been kissed off.

Presentation... of Christ and each other

2012-02-02T16:57:00.003-05:00

Elizabeth Scalia has one heck of a Feast of the Presentation post up. Here's a taste of her reflections on praying for others by "presenting" them to God:

"I felt so ragged and unworthy – like a slave, or the lowliest servant – escorting one person after another, one group after another into the presence of the King, each time introducing them thusly:

“Lord, the one you love is sick…”
“Lord, the one you love is weeping…”
“Lord, the ones you love are overworked and fretful…”
“Lord, the one you love is lonely…”
“Lord, the one you love is under siege…”
“Lord, the ones you love are oppressed…”
“Lord, the ones you love are over-burdened…”
“Lord, the ones you love are slaves to hate…”

I brought everyone in and then receded into the background, bowing low, imagining my own self nose-to-the-ground, almost prostrate and dared not look up, praying,

“help them to comprehend the truth and strength and inviolability of your love, the generosity of your mercy – show to them the outpouring of your grace, gift them with your healing and let them recognize it and trust in it, for your gifts bestowed are never rescinded. You, Alpha and Omega, in whom we live and move and have our being, spread forth your peace like sweetest honey to refresh starving hearts and weary spirits. Let your light touch us like consoling balm to soothe and warm our chilled humanity, so that we might be opened to your justice and willing to be made whole. But I am no worthy intercessor, only a faulty and broken vessel trusting in your mercy. Consider not what I deserve in your sight but only the needs of these whom you love, these I bring before you, and for whom I, the lowest servant, plead. Let my prayer rise before you like incense, to carry these forward. Forgive my sins, especially my failures in love, my sins of omission (for you know those are vast and heavy) and cast them behind your back as your prophet Isaiah has promised, and with your grace may I do better. Jesus, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner, in your name I pray…”

Go read the whole thing. And then subscribe to her blog so you can read her every day.

One-month challenge

2012-02-01T21:55:00.001-05:00

I really need to get back into blogging, so I'm hereby committing to posting something every day for a full month, starting now. (Notice I chose the shortest month of the year.) It might just be a quick "Here's something funny the kids said today" post, it might just be a picture, but it will be something, God willing.

So here! Adorable baby picture!

I made the stupid mistake of checking out a book from the library entitled "Mom Blogging for Dummies." John saw it, of course. "Ha, Mommy! You must be a dummy, to need this book!"

Le sigh. Humility, Mommy. It's all good.

I am not ready for this.

2012-01-23T21:57:00.001-05:00

Sigh. Who told these kids they could get bigger so fast?

Recalling the glow

2012-01-04T17:18:00.001-05:00

A few glances around our house on Christmas Eve...

The prayer table in our little chapel, with manger ready and waiting.

The tree, finally up and decorated.

And the dinner table, with our old German pyramid spinning away in the heat rising from the candles.

That was our decorating theme this year: greenery, pinecones, poinsettias, and candles. Simple and gorgeous.

Carols redux

2012-01-04T12:50:00.001-05:00

Thomas (singing): Fo' cawwing bowds, fwee Fenchens, two turdleduffs... an' a cartwidge in a pear twee.

Mommy: A what?

Thomas: You know, Mommy, a pwinter cartwidge.

Stinking cute

2011-06-07T22:03:00.002-04:00

This child kills me. Here he is, pretending to be an "angel cat." Don't ask me, I just live here.

Now We Are Six

2011-05-28T05:56:00.001-04:00

When I was One, I had just begun.

When I was Two, I was nearly new.

When I was Three I was hardly me.

When I was Four, I was not much more.

When I was Five, I was just alive.

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
(A. A. Milne)

I only wish he could.

Not quite there yet

2011-05-04T16:35:00.003-04:00

With John reading and working the computer independently, I've started testing the waters with Thomas. It would be helpful to get him in the habit of a "school day" before the baby arrives.

So with the house oddly quiet -- John's got headphones on for his lessons now -- I took a few alphabet blocks over to the coffee table and sat down with Thomas. He promptly named each vowel block with a big smile.

"Good! Now what is this?" I asked, placing a consonant in front of him.

"B."

"Very good! What sound does B make?"

He stared at me blankly. I demonstrated. "B -- bear. B -- book. B -- belly button," and poked his tummy. He giggled. "Now what can you think of that starts with the B sound?"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" he spluttered, showering spit over coffee table, blocks, and hapless mother. He jumped to his feet and ran around the room and down the hall, blowing tremendous raspberries all the way.

Ah well, 3 1/2 might be a little early...

The Four Last Things in my living room

2011-05-03T20:45:00.003-04:00

Legos on the coffee table. Legos on the couch. Legos on the floor. A typical scene at our house. What startled me was when John brought over a Lego contraption and announced that it was St. Michael in his flying machine, who had the job of coming to earth to collect people who died and then conducting them to either heaven or hell.

"Yes. And you're going to die in just a couple days," he told me. "Now it's the evening before the day you die. So what are you thinking?"

"Um... I'm thinking of how I'm going to miss everyone?"

"Aren't you hoping you're going to go to heaven?"

"Oh! Well, yes."

"Okay, then, you just died. Here you are. And here comes St. Michael! Now he's got you. Aren't you wondering where you're going? And here you're landing. Where are you?"

I looked. My little figure was disembarking before two tiny Lego thrones, occupied by two tiny Lego kings. "It's God! I'm in heaven! Hooray!" (I supposed the Holy Spirit was too complex to depict in Legos.)

St. Michael proceeded to deck me out in new armor and guide me to a seat among the saints. "I get to fight too? Who are we fighting?"

"The devil, of course," John shouted. "Get ready, because we have to go down to hell to fight. Now just a few days after you die, the world ends."

"Oh, dear."

"Yes. So here we go! We'll get him once and for all!"

I followed his finger, which pointed to perdition. Satan was apparently a Lego cactus.

In which we all get wet and dirty

2011-05-01T16:31:00.004-04:00

Came home from church and we all gulped down lunch and ran out to the garden in our raincoats and boots. John and Thomas trotted back and forth pretending to harvest their hay crop in Bed 1 with Prince and Tom, the Shire horses in Edwardian Farm. Scrabbling through dirt and manure with a drizzle pattering on one's hood may not seem like the ideal way to spend an afternoon, but as Joe called out, "Are we having fun yet?" I had to answer, "Actually, yes!"

Bed 1. Still under rye grass. Will be planted with sweet corn (too early just yet).

Bed 2. 4 green peppers, 2 grape tomatoes, 8 Roma tomatoes, 6 rows of carrots (2 varieties), 2 rows of spinach.

Bed 3. 3 rows of onions (2 kinds), 5 rows of broccoli, 1 row of cabbage, 7 rows of lettuce (4 different kinds). Still need to transplant our celery seedlings.

Bed 4. Rye grass turned under. Will be planted with 2 zucchini, 2 yellow squash, 1 butternut, 1 acorn squash, 4 cantaloupe. (Still too early for these.)

Bed 5. 5 rows Yukon Gold potatoes, 3 rows red potatoes. Will be planted with sweet potatoes once the sets arrive in the mail.

Bed 6. 3 rows shell peas, 3 rows sugar snap peas, 2 rows bush beans. Will be planted with more beans as the season progresses.

Ironically, in today's church bulletin was a little gardening prayer:

St. Isidore, St. Isidore,
To you we rogate, to you we implore:
Please let it (or not) shine or pour,
Bring on the bee, hold off the hoar;

Coax the oat, swell the meat
Of grape and nut; encourage the wheat
To ripen fat in August heat
Then lay down, brown, for us to beat

And bag in burlap with quadruple X's
Haul to the mill with stone-ground reflexes,
Enliven the staff of both the sexes
By stuffing them full of B complexes;

Sweeten the soil's sour grievance,
Correct the mustard's feckless malfeasance,
Raise up the corn in rows of allegiance,
Bow down the cherry in fruitful obeisance;

O Guardian of squash and tendrilled pea,
Hoeing away at sanctity,
All ills of bud and vine and lea,
But mostly our garden, remedy.

News flash: Boys and girls are different

2011-04-28T20:53:00.003-04:00

Exhibit A. John is given an adorable John Deere metal lunchbox with a sewing kit inside: needlepoint canvas, plastic needles, scissors, green and yellow yarn. A girl would likely proceed to thread the needle with the yarn, sew a design on the canvas, and cut off the end with the scissors.

Of course, in this house of males 1) the scissors trim the yarn into fifty bazillion tiny bits of "grain" that are sown about the living room and down the hall, 2) the needles become lances for Lego knights, 3) the canvas is utterly ignored, and 4) the rest of the yarn is used to swing tractors from doorknob "cranes" or hitch other tractors to the piano bench and pull it across the room.

I love boys.

Easter!

2011-04-25T21:47:00.002-04:00

Ain't no such thing as coincidence

2011-04-23T07:57:00.002-04:00

Holy Saturday. Morning prayers. The prayer table is stripped save for crown of thorns, three nails and the wall crucifix. It's raining. I have three little people in my lap in the rocking chair, the two visible ones squirming and shoving each other and whining for more room. The mutters and whispers grow louder through the opening hymn: "Move over! I'm squished!" "No! Oo moof!" "Boys, quit! Ow!" "Thomas, sit still!"

And then Joe reads the first psalm through the chorus: "Hear my voice, O God, as I complain..." and roars of laughter drown out everything else.

Heaven, PA

2011-04-22T09:16:00.000-04:00

Last weekend Joe's parents came to visit, and we all went up for a day to the family farm in Pennsylvania. From the farmhouse kitchen window (circa 1880s!) one looks out on rolling hills of fields and woods, with a gorgeous creek at the bottom of the hill -- and not a single neighbor in sight in any direction. On these 600+ acres the Klines have raised beef cattle, timber, hay and grain for generations.

Twenty minutes up the road is another teeny town where more Klines-and-relations live on an even bigger dairy farm. These steer calves all came from there. One of their older cousins graced us with a spectacular beef roast for dinner, where every single thing on that enormous table came from the farm -- from the mashed potatoes to the corn and green beans to the blueberries in the pie.

The adults sat around that table long after the dishes had been cleared away and talked. We had four generations there; the eldest two, a brother and sister, had grown up in that very house. The brother continued on there as an adult, and had recently built an apartment over the garage and handed the farm over to his son. Doc is 82ish and has lived on that same spot literally his entire life.

The kids and Joe took a fishing pole and rode down through the woods to the creek in the Rhino; I followed leisurely afterward, rambling down the country road and then down among the trees, picking up a deer skull before joining them by the water. They flung rocks and splashed in the shallows and admired their cousin Chris' fishing skill.

(We have a picture of Chris at our wedding, ten years ago. He was seven and adorable. Now he's taller than Joe. Yipe!)

They ran up and down the big hill by the house. They played with the dog. They entertained a pack of teenagers with their wildly precocious prattling, till Joe laughed so hard he cried and I wanted to slide under the table in embarrassment. (John: "Do you know about stinkbugs? They give off this foul vapor..." "Do you have English sparrows here? They look a lot like regular sparrows, except they're from England...")

And I found an ancient swingset that looked up that hill from a stand of pine trees Doc remembered his father planting when he was a little kid. And swung, and swung, and soaked it all in.

Will work for TicTacs

2011-04-21T09:52:00.000-04:00

Thomas is banned from the library. Every time I've taken him in the past couple months he's gone berserk in the children's room, streaking up and down the aisles, climbing on stools and pulling books down from the shelves, dumping out toys and puzzles in the activity corner, and yelling at the top of his lungs.

But yesterday a book came in that I really wanted to get my hands on. So I resorted to bribery.

As I buckled him into the car I casually mentioned, "You know, Thomas, I have some peppermint TicTacs in my bag. Boys who behave in the library get one. Boys who don't behave, don't."

"I wiw behave," he said, brightly.

"Good. Do you know what 'behave' means?"

"Es."

"Good. What does it mean?"

Pause. "What duz it mean?"

"It means to walk, NOT run; to use your inside voice; and to do what Mommy tells you."

"I wiw do aw doze tings," he nodded.

So. Get in, get the book, get out, I muttered to myself as we opened the library door. The line at the counter was longer than I'd ever seen it. He whirled around and around my legs in ever-widening circles with a fiendish grin, nearly crashing into several other patrons in the line -- but at a fast walk, NOT a run, and his giggles were sotto voce.

Good enough. I got my book. He got his TicTac. Whew.

Spy Wednesday

2011-04-20T21:40:00.001-04:00

Then went one of the twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, to the chief priests, and said to them: "What will you give me, and I will deliver him unto you?" But they appointed him thirty pieces of silver. And from thenceforth he sought opportunity to betray him. (Matthew 26:14-16)

Silver-dollar pancakes for dinner. Scooping the batter out by teaspoonfuls takes a loooooooooong time.

The hidden hazards of nature documentaries

2011-04-17T09:20:00.002-04:00

At the breakfast table, sitting next to his father, Thomas suddenly grabs Joe's placemat and yanks it toward him, nearly upsetting a glass of milk. He crashes the placemat into his own, rumpling both upwards. "I made a vo'cano," he declares.

Joe rescues the glass and removes the rest of his breakfast with a sigh. "Thomas, our placemats are not tectonic plates."

In which we consider building an ark

2011-04-16T20:55:00.001-04:00

Thunderstorms! Flooding! No power! Oh my!

Three to four inches of rain on already-wet soil make some spectacular rivers on a hillside yard. Right through the garden. (We have literal rapids down by the dogwoods.)

I feel so bad for Joe. The garden is a disaster. It will take a long time to clean up the mess; luckily we hadn't planted too much yet. (Only yellow potatoes, and red potatoes, and shell peas, and sugar snap peas, and yellow onions, and red onions...)

We went out at a break in the rain to survey the damage. This is where Joe was turning over a bed at 6:30 this morning. Now -- by his calculations -- there's 150 gallons of water in it.

Plenty for the boys to jump in. Their clothes may dry out by next week. You could have heard their soggy, joyous shrieks all the way down the road.

CritterCam

2011-03-26T21:17:00.000-04:00

This past Christmas Joe got a wild game camera. When he opened it, he and I both yelled, "Cool!" while his sister and brother-in-law both burst out, "Did you ask for that?"

Joe strapped it to a tree in the lower back corner of the yard. John was enthralled with the motion sensor.

This is more along the lines of what we're supposed to get with this thing:

Are we having fun yet? You betcha.

Reason #459234 why we love homeschooling

2011-03-22T22:06:00.003-04:00

Because he doesn't have to sit still in a chair while doing his Grammar.

Oh, did I mention we've finished the Petty School Reading course and are now working on Lesson 2 of Classical Grammar I? Want to guess what he's doing?

Reading and translating Latin. "In principio erat Verbum et Verbum erat apud Deum et Deus erat Verbum. Hoc erat in principio apud Deum. Omnia per ipsum facta sunt et sine ipso factum est nihil quod facta est."

Sound familiar? It's the beginning of the Gospel of St. John. "In the beginning was the Word, and the word was with God..."

He does these lessons on my lap while we both stare at the screen. I need to learn this stuff too to keep up with him. (Am I boasting? Perhaps. Scared to death? Most definitely.)

Did I mention I'm doomed?

2011-03-19T21:53:00.004-04:00

Joe: Thomas, leave your nose alone. If you dig at it too much you'll make it bleed again.

Thomas: Okay, I jes dig a 'iddle bit.

*****

Found a great resource to make custom worksheets in lots of different subjects. It also automatically makes answer keys! So I made a 50-question addition drill for John. He went off to the picnic table and scribbled away, then came back waving the paper triumphantly. I reached for the key.

John: No, Mommy, don't check it with the answer page. Check it with your head. That way I'll know if you really know this stuff.

Garden ahoy!

2011-03-13T13:08:00.002-04:00

The menfolk turning under the winter cover crop of rye.
Six of those deep beds, 5x20 feet each. By hand.

We went to Tractor Supply yesterday and played with the chicks and rabbits while Daddy picked up some supplies. (Gotta love it when overalled old-timers peer into the chick pens and grin, "Aw, peep-peeps!") Peas, onion sets and seed potatoes all need to be planted now...

...so the potatoes are busy sprouting in the windowsill.

Our happily messy (and constantly revising) garden plans, courtesy of this fabulous planning resource at Mother Earth News. (Despite the goofy name, they have a lot of useful info here.)

Whee!

Spring in sight

2011-03-13T13:03:00.000-04:00

Here come the peonies...

and the pussy willows...

and the tulips...

and the forsythia!

The world is waking up

2011-03-04T21:51:00.002-05:00

Pussy willow buds. Little bitty tulip sprouts along the front walk. And the faintest tinge of green brushing the ground. Signs are everywhere saying spring's not here yet, but it's coming...

The front door was open today to let a flood of sunshine in through the storm door. The boys and I were eating lunch when there was suddenly a WHAM at that door. Thinking maybe a bird had flown into the window, or a UPS guy had dumped off a package, we turned around and saw a giant groundhog, nose pressed to the windowpane, staring into the house.

There may be a nest of them under our front step. Baby groundhogs! Bring 'em on!

Snowball effect

2011-02-25T17:02:00.002-05:00

Day 1. The children's only TV exposure is 15 minutes of Edwardian Farm at lunchtime. During those 15 minutes we learn about the process of drilling and blasting in a Cornwall tin mine. Intense interest is piqued, so we chat a bit about bombs before moving on with our day. That evening Joe listens to the daily report and then we get an earful of the chemical differences between gunpowder and TNT and dynamite and other things that go boom. The boys are enchanted.

Day 2. They go outside to play in the snow and pretend their snowsuits are mining outfits. They dig diligently, stuff in a stick and then run off shrieking, "Burning! Burning!" as the fuse burns down. Then: "Ka-BOOM! BLAM!"

"Boom boom boom," sings Thomas in a dreamy undertone.

"Let's go see all the damage," says John.

"Ook at aw da damage!" says Thomas, appreciatively.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Day 3. They decide to create their own version of gunpowder, which they dub "Bomb 2N2" and apparently consists of equal proportions of sandbox sand, peat moss, and potting soil. There is now quite a sizable pile of Bomb 2N2 beneath the workshop overhang.

Day 4. Thomas eyes his bowl of Cheerios and begins chopping them methodically to bits with his spoon. "Honey, what are you doing?" I ask, half afraid of the answer. "I makin' mo' Bom 2N2," he informs me. "'Za vewy dangawus high exsposive."

Day 5. John reads this blog post as I write it, sitting on my lap. "Yeah, we are enchanted," he says. "I'd say so."

In which our suspicions of our son's influential powers are confirmed

2011-02-22T21:24:00.003-05:00

Regrettably, we got no pictures of the outside activities at the party, which mostly consisted of John leading a mining crew up at the workshop to dig and mix batches of "gunpowder." We were mildly surprised to see that the most enthusiastic participants were the three girls. The other boys were crowded around the Lego table downstairs, while all the girls were outside getting covered with dirt. We were glad they were enjoying themselves, being so badly outnumbered and all, but had no idea just how much fun they were having until much later.

The kids did a great job cleaning up after the party, but as would be expected, we did find the odd leftover here and there. This picture was unearthed in a corner of the basement:

So John now has some female friends. Only trouble is, they're hooked on the American Revolution now (as in "Aw, mom, do we really have to forgive our enemies? Even the British?") while our boys are obsessed with All Things English, via this series.

How to have a splendiferous day

2011-02-21T12:08:00.001-05:00

Step 1. Invite over three other families with young children from church for a potluck after Mass. Finagle things so that one of the adults is the cantor and another the music minister.

Step 2. Insist that they bring guitars and songbooks.

Step 3. After feeding the masses (10 children around the living room coffee table, 8 adults in the more civilized dining room), have on hand a) a basement where some kids can disappear to paint, draw, and play with Legos, and b) a big backyard where the others can dig to their heart's content in the dirt and ride squealing down the hill in a wagon.

Step 4. Except for Thomas, who will stop in his tracks on his way out the door at the first guitar chords, and run to get his grandfather's guitar and join the jam session. (He strummed quietly the whole time, rapturously gazing at "Mr. Paul's" face and hands.)

By the time singing was over and it was time for dessert, my face was aching from grinning so much.

John bits

2011-02-13T06:22:00.004-05:00

1. 6:55 AM. I'm saying my rosary in our chapel. The boys' bedroom door opens and John pads down the hall to the bathroom. Finished with his business, he comes to the bathroom doorway to explain: "It's like this. I was pretending I was an engine. And then I noticed I had too much windshield wiper fluid."

2. Thomas is afraid of the vacuum cleaner. He hid under the computer desk downstairs while I vacuumed the guest room for Aunt Margaret. While there, he lost his hold on the tiny Lego helmet he was carrying. So once the dreaded machine was retired, he asked me for a flashlight. John kindly crawled into the dark cavern of cables to help look. "No good," he said, reappearing. "We really do need a flashlight. Or... if we can't find one, I could always go get a couple of carrots."

"Carrots?" I repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, you know, so I can see better."

3. Since Aunt Margaret was the bestower of our beloved Beethoven's Wig CD, John insisted on performing his interpretive dance for her. She and I sat frozen, half amused, half stunned, as he leaped and stomped and flung his arms and head in all directions with a manic glare in his eyes. In the course of his wild gesticulating he grazed his knuckles on the coffee table.

He winced but only paused long enough to pant, "The super-duper 1812 Overture dancer busts his hand on the table. But he keeps on going!" And he resumed his "dancing."

Mea cowboy, mea Mexican cowboy

2011-02-11T06:24:00.002-05:00

The boys have not been sleeping well, perhaps from the last hurrah of their colds. Therefore I have not been sleeping well. Therefore I sometimes crash on the couch for a quick nap after putting Thomas down for his.

Yes, this leaves John alone and at large. So I apologize to the two people I know about (who both called me yesterday to tell me so), and to all the people I don't know about, who received one (or many) texts from him during my slumbers.

Aunt Karen was bemused. "Um... does BZZRTJSKDH have any special meaning, or was that John?"

Christy thought it was hilarious, and even texted back. She knew right away who it was, though. "I AM JOHN" was probably a giveaway.

Smart aleck

2011-02-06T20:22:00.002-05:00

Scene: Our "chapel" at morning prayers. Thomas is squirming and making random heavy-machinery sound effects. Mommy is yawning. John is talking... and talking, and talking.

Joe: John, be quiet. We're trying to pray. John, quiet. Hey! What part of "quiet" are you having trouble with?

John: The "qui."

Snowshoeing

2011-02-05T09:14:00.001-05:00

We had a decent snowstorm come through last week and the boys finally got to use the snowshoes we gave them for Christmas. They tramped all over the yard and pronounced them good.

That was last week, you say. Why so long before posting? Well, it's taken me this long to be able to look at these pictures without flinching. While all this snow-hopping was going on -- literally, right as the shots were being taken -- a tragedy was playing out next door. The sound of a snowblower ran in the background for half an hour before it dawned on us that our elderly neighbor's driveway shouldn't take that long to clear. A stroll over in that direction to see if there was a problem turned to a panicked run as we caught sight of him lying on the asphalt. Joe flew down the hill to him, called 911 and started giving CPR as I flew up the hill to stop the boys from coming down. I corralled them at a safe distance, where they could see the ambulance and police cars that arrived but none of the awful details.

Joe went to the wake on Sunday. Requiescat in pace.

Little men

2011-02-04T20:19:00.001-05:00

Joe and I are both denim-and-T-shirt people. We're not sure where the boys got their love of dressing up. John now insists on wearing a tie each Sunday, and he's been literally begging me for a "laser" like Thomas' every day for a week.

Yes, it's a bit big on Tomasso. But it's ridiculously tiny on John, for whom I bought it. You'd think a size 5 would fit, well, a 5-year-old. No such luck.

I do NOT recall giving either of them permission to get this big.

He's one of THOSE children

2011-01-05T21:54:00.003-05:00

I had a dentist appointment this afternoon and dropped the boys off at Christy's house. As I stepped through her door afterwards to pick them up again, I opened my mouth to ask how the boys had behaved.

"Mommy!" came a giggling shout from the basement. "Thomas is flushing marbles down the toilet!"

I darted down to investigate and found Thomas nowhere near the bathroom. Instead, he was dancing in his stocking feet in the cat's litter box.

Legos R Us

2011-01-02T22:04:00.002-05:00

John's grandparents gave him this Lego set for Christmas (and this, and this). Yesterday he spent five hours putting it together by himself, with only occasional consulting from Joe. He must have fried his circuits in so doing, as he had a doozie of a meltdown afterward. Next time we forcibly remove him and throw him outside for a break.

Yes, the drawbridge and portcullis both go up and down. Yes, there's a dungeon for prisoners to be tossed into and break out of. Yes, there are multiple working catapults. No, it cannot wash my windows.

And since we had other sets already, and since Thomas got this and this for Christmas, we have some confusing storylines enacted on our basement floor. The king rides swiftly out across the drawbridge... because the castle's on fire behind him! And a fireman is scaling the turret! And there's a shark in the moat! And cows in the courtyard! Aieee!

Hop-on-Pop or the Herald-Mail?

2011-01-02T21:14:00.004-05:00

Dad's been less than impressed with John's reading, reminding me that I was perusing the newspaper at age five. Today I can announce that although John got off to a later start, he's catching up fast, because when he reached for the newspaper he spotted the sports section and read the following:

If Marvin Lewis was as successful against the rest of the NFL as he’s been against the Baltimore Ravens, there wouldn’t be speculation about whether his run as coach of the Cincinnati Bengals will end today. The Bengals are 10-5 against Baltimore since Lewis took over in 2003.

I can guarantee you that whatever part of the paper I was reading at his age, it wasn't that one.

Doesn't get any more fun than this

2010-12-10T21:36:00.005-05:00

The basement is getting really friggin' cold and the last time I tried to fire up the wood stove, a couple mornings ago, I almost smoked us all out of the house. So we've been confined to the upstairs--i.e., away from the computer--which means I've had to be a little creative with his lessons.

Fortunately it's easy to hop online, find a story, copy and paste it to Word, and then make it instantly all caps for printing out. (THANK YOU, JOE! Before he happened to tell me about that little trick I was retyping my fingers raw.) So this is what John read to me today:

*****
How the First Letter Was Written (by Rudyard Kipling)

ONCE upon a most early time was a Neolithic man. He was not a Jute or an Angle, or even a Dravidian, which he might well have been, Best Beloved, but never mind why. He was a Primitive, and he lived cavily in a Cave, and he wore very few clothes, and he couldn't read and he couldn't write and he didn't want to, and except when he was hungry he was quite happy. His name was Tegumai Bopsulai, and that means, 'Man-who-does-not-put-his-foot- forward-in-a-hurry'; but we, O Best Beloved, will call him Tegumai, for short. And his wife's name was Teshumai Tewindrow, and that means, 'Lady-who-asks-a-very-many-questions'; but we, O Best Beloved, will call her Teshumai, for short. And his little girl-daughter's name was Taffimai Metallumai, and that means, 'Small-person-without-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked'; but I'm going to call her Taffy. And she was Tegumai Bopsulai's Best Beloved and her own Mummy's Best Beloved, and she was not spanked half as much as was good for her; and they were all three very happy. As soon as Taffy could run about she went everywhere with her Daddy Tegumai, and sometimes they would not come home to the Cave till they were hungry, and then Teshumai Tewindrow would say, 'Where in the world have you two been to, to get so shocking dirty? Really, my Tegumai, you're no better than my Taffy.'

Now attend and listen!

One day Tegumai Bopsulai went down through the beaver-swamp to the Wagai river to spear carp-fish for dinner, and Taffy went too. Tegumai's spear was made of wood with shark's teeth at the end, and before he had caught any fish at all he accidentally broke it clean across by jabbing it down too hard on the bottom of the river. They were miles and miles from home (of course they had their lunch with them in a little bag), and Tegumai had forgotten to bring any extra spears.

'Here's a pretty kettle of fish!' said Tegumai. 'It will take me half the day to mend this.'

'There's your big black spear at home,' said Taffy. 'Let me run back to the Cave and ask Mummy to give it me.'

*****

That's the first two out of 20 printed pages. He was giggling at the story the whole time. When he was finished, the snow was really coming down, so I sent him outside, where he promptly shoveled the entire driveway.

Okay, I'm scared

2010-12-03T20:48:00.002-05:00

We have a little shelf by the kitchen window set up with candles, a vase of pine branches, a few pinecones, and the (unopened) Christmas cards that have started coming in. (Once they're opened, they get clipped to a piece of twine strung across the window.)

At lunch today I saw John staring oddly at the envelope. "Ninety-five," he murmured, squinting.

"What's ninety-five, honey?"

"Our zip code. 21713. I'm adding it up. 21 + 71 is 92, because 20 + 70 is 90 and 1 + 1 is 2. Then you add that 3 on the end and get 95."

"Gads." It was my turn to stare. "Can you do that with our street number?"

"Sure. 20824. 20 + 82... hm, well, 20 + 80 is 100, so that would be 102, plus 4 is 106."

Processing, processing... please stand by

2010-11-19T22:33:00.001-05:00

I keep writing captions for these shots and erasing them.
Who knows what he's thinking?

But THAT he's thinking is never in doubt.

And sometimes that can be frightening.

At least we have a few years before his plans of world domination can come to fulfillment. I mean, he hasn't even lost his baby teeth yet.

Thomas

2010-11-18T14:35:00.001-05:00

This child hears a different drummer...

...who must be playing quite the lively march.

John's first letter

2010-11-17T16:00:00.000-05:00

He dictates. I write. He copies...

... while Thomas scribbles.

What was he writing about?

This:

We took our headlamps and spotlight out in the backyard after dark to look for deer and other critters. Starlight, sailing clouds, dead leaves crunching under our boots, a little-boy hand in each of mine... and when we turned out our lights, nothing but moonshadows and wind in the tall grass.

Way cool.

Double bubble trouble

2010-11-16T12:27:00.000-05:00

I finished off a bottle of kid soap and slightly misjudged the amount of soap that was left.

Because paper is so passe

2010-11-15T21:18:00.000-05:00

Arithmetic

2010-11-04T07:48:00.001-04:00

John was getting bored to death with addition drills, so we started something a little different. His teacher thinks he may be ready to just skip the Petty School math course and go straight to Arithmetic. So! We begin! This mass of memory work became a mass of chalk scrawlings.

He loved it. LOVED it. We tossed chalk around and laughed ourselves silly. "Look! It's [the chalk] a magnitude! Now it's in motion! [as he flings it in the air] And LOOK! Now it's a multitude! [as it smashes into pieces on the ground]"

Happy All Saints' Day!

2010-11-01T20:51:00.000-04:00

All you saints in heaven, pray for us!

Especially St. Michael, St. Patrick, and St. Elizabeth of Hungary... of whom I beg forgiveness for impersonating in a Burger King crown.

Company

2010-10-29T10:14:00.000-04:00

Slowly on the mend. Fred felt well enough to join us for breakfast. Thomas kindly ate his granola for him.

Blech

2010-10-27T21:01:00.001-04:00

We are all sick. My day yesterday can be summed up in one scene. Me: staggering to the counter hacking up bits of lung. John: throwing up all over the couch and carpet, reeling into the kitchen, and offering an encore performance under the table. Thomas: bouncing unhappily on the welcome mat yelling "I'm tinky!" All at the same time.

But hey, we have sidewalk chalk! So life is good.

We have GOT to do something about Narnia...

2010-10-25T18:01:00.002-04:00

(To Joe): You're a pompous old fool.

(To his brother): Stop it, you blithering little idiot!

Although this one I can live with:

(To me): I hear and obey, O Queen.

Nursery rhymes revisited, by John

2010-10-24T21:11:00.001-04:00

Humpty Dumpty sat on da wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

All da king’s horses and all da king’s men

Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

What was he doing up on the wall in da first place?

And why did he fall off?

Although I guess eggs are pretty round, so he probably just rolled.

And why couldn’t dey put him back together?

I bet if I had some special egg glue I could do it.

Although I’d also need a special egg clamp.

And I’d have to be careful not to clamp him too tightly, or he would explode.

Little boy bravery

2010-08-12T09:53:00.002-04:00

Thunderstorms last night. Thomas started crying. Joe went in and came back a couple minutes later. "I don't know what's wrong," he said. "He kept saying 'I just need that.'"

When the crying began again, I went in. "It's okay, Thomas, it's okay," mumbled John, half-asleep.

"I jes... need dat. I jes need... dat," Thomas wept.

"Honey, you have to tell me what 'that' means."

"I jes... need... Don's ding."

Thing, of course, was no more helpful than that. I tried to distract him and get him to lie down, to no avail. Thunder rumbled and lightning flickered behind the edges of their blackout curtains.

"He wants my sword," John piped up.

"I need Don's zohd," Thomas said, with a whimper.

"I think he's scared," added John. "My sword is downstairs in the guest room. It's okay, Mommy. Just give him what he wants so I can go back to sleep."

I went and got the sword and put it in Thomas' hand. "See, here it is," I told him. "Now you don't need to be scared. Go to sleep." And I put it on the dresser by his bed.

And he went to sleep.

Snippets

2010-08-11T20:13:00.003-04:00

Daddy: Would you like some cantaloupe?

Mommy: I'll have a little bit, sure.

John: What's the proper response?

Mommy: Yes, please.

***

Daddy: This is your left foot... and this is your right foot. Where's your right arm?

Thomas: Dis is [holding it out].

Daddy: Right! And where's your left arm?

Thomas: Dis is [holding out the other one].

Daddy: Good!

Thomas: An' dis is my ite ear, and dis is my eft ear. And dis is my ite eye, and dis is my eft eye [pointing to each].

Daddy: And where's your right nose?

Thomas: [touching his nose] Dis is my middle nose.

Toddler nightmares

2010-08-10T17:15:00.003-04:00

Thomas woke up sometime around 3:30 this morning screaming. When I opened the door he was sitting up and crying "I just.... need git... fends... baftub..." incoherently, over and over. After about five iterations my brain woke up just enough to have a flash of intuition.

"Your friends aren't in the bathtub, Thomas. It was just a dream," I told him. "See, they're right here, and they're safe and dry."

He stopped crying, patted each of his stuffed animals, and immediately lay down and passed out again.

Mr. Smarty Pants

2010-08-05T20:37:00.002-04:00

We've been working to teach the boys to politely ask for things, rather than simply informing us that they want them. Thomas seems to be getting a little tired of this.

Thomas: I foosty [thirsty]! I need dink!

Joe: Thomas, do you have a question?

Thomas: Es, Daddy, I have a keschun. My keschun is, may I peez have a dink of addoo [water]? Dat is my keschun.

What we're up against

2010-08-02T05:46:00.003-04:00

Me: Thomas. Thomas. Thomas! Hey! John, tell Thomas what to do when Mommy calls you.

John: Stop, look, "Yes, Mommy."

Me: That's right. Thomas, say "Yes, Mommy."

Thomas: No, Daddy.

***

John: Hey, Thomas, your pancake is just the right size to fit in your glass.

Joe: John! Do not tell your brother to do things he's not allowed to do!

John: I didn't tell him to do anything. I just informed him it was possible.

Harvest time

2010-07-31T22:01:00.002-04:00

Tomatoes. Yellow squash. ZUCCHINI. Watermelon. Cucumbers. Peas. Corn. Not to mention herbs of all sorts. Ze garden, she is exploding.

Thought I saw another zucchini over here...

... yes, I think I see it...

... right in here...

Got it!

Ta-da!

But blech, what is that yucky flower thing?

I'll just go on over to the happy sunflowers.

Bubble trouble

2010-07-31T21:49:00.001-04:00

Thomas gets in tub. John gets in tub. I step out of the bathroom to say something to Joe. Mad giggling ensues. Joe enters bathroom. Thomas proceeds to wail like a siren while John laughs hysterically.

Between the shrieks of laughter and the just plain shrieks it comes out that in those 20 seconds of freedom Thomas has found -- and emptied -- the bottle of baby wash into the tub. The large bottle. The resulting voluminous drifts of bubbles overwhelm him, and he doesn't know whether to splash in joyous abandon or weep in terror.

So he does both, back and forth between the two, until we take pity on him, put down the camera, rinse him off (several times) and put him straight to bed.

Fathers' Day

2010-06-20T21:43:00.000-04:00

The boys took Daddy to the local tractor and engine show. Then there were Legos and strawberry shortcake. A good weekend.

And you know you live in a house of males when their centerpiece for the special dinner is a bug habitat, complete with captive praying mantis. Especially when they stock it with a hapless leafhopper and spend the entire dinner with noses inches from the tablecloth, peering inside anxious for the carnage to ensue.

Five

2010-05-28T16:17:00.000-04:00

I don't recall giving him permission to get this old.

The view from here

2010-05-27T14:29:00.001-04:00

They actually grew!

But the book piles are still higher than the plants...

...and the magazines are taking over.

However, John and his safety glasses are ready for anything.

Almost there

2010-05-26T16:06:00.001-04:00

Joe's been working hard putting up a fence around the garden and finishing the final digging of our plots. We tried the Square Foot Gardening method last year and were pleased, so this year we've taken the "deep-bed" approach one step further, and our garden guru is currently John Seymour. Joe is supportive but wary of my increasing obsession with All Things Homesteadly. Especially when it means he's the one digging all those deep beds. By hand.

He's not keen on an 8-foot fence obstructing the view of the backyard, so we decided on a 3-foot chickenwire jobbie instead to foil the rabbits until the plants get big enough to interest the deer. At that point (well, preferably before) we'll instigate Phase II. (I mean, Joe will. Heh.)

Note the teeny gardening gloves! Hee!

Plants'R'Us

2010-05-25T15:50:00.000-04:00

We have pots and seedlings coming out our ears. Here's Thomas with the herb-garden-to-be. He was intrigued by all the different smells.

Pentecost

2010-05-23T16:13:00.003-04:00

On Pentecost weekend ten years ago, two bewildered people stood by a park bench outside the church where they'd met.

"Hm. I practiced, but this is really hard, now it comes to it," he said. Then he fell to his knees in the dirt and took a ring out of his pocket.

Tears and smooches over, they stared at each other and giggled nervously. "Okay, so what do we do now?" she asked.

"I don't know. How about breakfast?" he suggested. They drove to the grocery store and picked up a mess of strawberries and a loaf of sourdough bread.

And we made our annual visit to the strawberry farm this weekend. Joe is preparing and freezing them as I type. What a guy.

Flowers and chocolate (boy style)

2010-05-22T15:06:00.001-04:00

"I ike oo, Mommy. Oo nice," said the cherub, reaching up from his crib to hug me before lying down to sleep.

And John has been harvesting johnny-jump-ups on a daily basis, laying them before me proud as a cat with a dead mouse.

One day he needed variety. He appeared at the screen door with a three-foot-long sheaf of green stems and roots, with a sprinkling of tiny white asters at the very top, each smaller than my thumbnail.

He even sneaked away to his top-secret hidey-hole under his bed, retrieved a Hershey kiss from the stash he had carefully squirreled away (unbeknownst to me), and gave it to me, with a "Mommy, you're so nice, you deserve a kiss. Here. It's my very last one."

John told his daddy about it that evening at dinner. "Well, at least my SON gives me flowers and chocolate," I teased Joe.

"Hey, I give you chocolate! Didn't I buy you that two-pound bag of chocolate chips once?"

Before I could answer, John's eyes widened. "Don't listen, Mommy," he ordered. I pretended not to hear as he stage-whispered across the table to Joe: "Daddy! Mommy needs more than two pounds! We should get her a ten pound bag of chips! No, wait-- a 78-pound bag!"

And then the rest of the conversation, which I wasn't supposed to be following, centered on how many pounds of chocolate the car could carry home, and wouldn't it be better to rent a forklift, and maybe we'd better get a dump truck too and just dump all the chips in the driveway like we did our load of mulch.

Small starts

2010-05-15T21:41:00.003-04:00

We started some seeds in the living room window last week.
Peas, peppers, cantaloupe, zucchini, yellow squash, and even a couple watermelon.

The boys were fascinated.

Daddy's little helper

2010-05-09T13:56:00.000-04:00

Only a couple days after Joe mowed the lawn, fuzzy grey dandelions were sprouting everywhere. He mentioned jokingly that he needed someone to go pick them all.

If you look hard you can see the flowers flying in the upper left.

The realization dawns that it's a lost cause.

But he'll keep picking a while yet anyway.

Aunt Jenny and Gabe

2010-05-08T21:46:00.001-04:00

For my dopey sisters

2010-05-08T21:36:00.001-04:00

I love you guys. Er, gals.

Just because he's too dang cute

2010-04-27T21:00:00.001-04:00

What I saw when I went to wake him from his nap-- ha! that's a good one! I mean, release him from his daily imprisonment. No, I don't know why his hood was up. But it does make him look even more hoodlumish, har har.

Stop right there or the rabbit gets it.

Driveway math

2010-04-26T21:32:00.001-04:00

A little less than a year ago our driveway was constantly scrawled over with chalky syllables. Now we're on to Arithmetic.

I wrote out the equations (all the single-digit +1's and +2's, in Arabic and Roman numerals) and stood at the top with a long garden stake as a pointer. John rode his bike around the driveway, stopped at the bottom of the numbers, and I pointed to a random equation. He would then read it and answer it.

"Quinque et duo sunt... septem!" he'd chirp, and take off again.

Take that

2010-04-26T17:08:00.003-04:00

Supper. Thomas drains his milk and contemplates the cup.

To himself, under his breath: "I dank my miwk. My miwk aw gone. My cuhp is empty."

Aloud, as he holds out the cup: "I need some mo' ikwid in dis, peez."

"More liquid?" I ask, aghast.

"Es," he says. Then, with a sly grin at John: "Can oo say ikwid?"

Happy Easter!

2010-04-04T20:52:00.001-04:00

We spent the day with Aunts Jenny and Margaret in Baltimore. Beautiful day, beautiful Mass at the beautiful basilica.

Our crew with Archbishop O'Brien.

Thomas giving the pastor a high five.

There were several shrines, but the boys' favorite (of course) was St. Michael (and argh! their Easter outfits kill me!):

Sun and dirt

2010-03-22T21:25:00.000-04:00

Or, How to Keep Boys Happy.

These pictures were taken this past weekend. Today was dark and rainy, and all three of us wore our grouchy pants.

Eureka!

2010-03-18T07:36:00.002-04:00

One of the biggest challenges in getting John to practice the piano has been keeping Thomas happily contained. Enter the Montessori trays. Not the exact professional Montessori Collegium Internationale-approved version, but simple approximations of the principles using stuff we already have around the house.

Spooning dried split peas into his wooden nesting cups.

Pinching pompoms with a pair of sugar-cube tongs and sorting them (sometimes into different cups, sometimes into an ice cube tray).

His all-time favorite: a bucket of play sand and pebbles, two cups, a spoon and a strainer. He ran to the table at 9:00 yesterday. John finished piano at 9:35. I tried to let Thomas down and he screamed, "No! I do rocks an' san'!" So John and I did his Catechism lesson. We finished around 10:15, and again I tried to release Thomas, with the same result. John and I went downstairs, printed up some new practice reading sheets, came back up and read them all. At 10:45 -- an hour and forty-five minutes later -- Thomas finally started to get restless... but only because he had a messy diaper.

So romantic

2010-03-17T20:36:00.002-04:00

Joe puts a cranky Thomas to bed while John and I head for the couch for evening prayer. Night is falling, the purple candle glows softly, a beautiful sunset lights the west and there's a bright crescent moon. He and I stare at it for a moment. Then he says softly, "Wow. It looks just like a giant toenail falling from the sky."

Snippets

2010-03-16T06:03:00.002-04:00

Even when one keeps all technological toys away from the children, they still play with them. The Etch-a-Sketch has become a laptop, and the thermometer from the doctor's kit has become a USB drive.
John has designed his own cassock: Thomas' bunting, with a black long-sleeve T-shirt over the top (usually worn inside out and backwards). It looks almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a cassock. But he is extremely pleased with it and loves to shuffle about the house. I keep trying to explain to him that real cassocks have an opening for one's feet...
Every time Thomas goes to bed, he announces who he is sleeping with. As in, "Fwed [big teddy bear] is Aunt Kawen, Pep [little teddy bear] is Baby Dooweeanna, and Benjamin [rabbit] is a fish. I put Benjamin in the Motomac [Potomac River]. I go fishin'."
Even though Thomas' vocabulary is exploding, he often questions his accuracy by asking of the most mundane items, as he holds them up for inspection: "Is dis bwead? Is dis oosdoos [orange juice]? Is dis my cuhp?"
John has become a die-hard John Michael Talbot fan. Whenever he hears the first notes of one of JMT's albums, he dashes about the house gathering my keys, maracas, our jingle bell stick, anything that makes lots of noise -- and leaps on the couch, to belt out "TASTE and SEE da goodness of da YORD..." at deafening volume while bouncing up and down. At the (mercifully quieter) verses, he falls down flat and motionless, to pop back up for the raucous refrain and do it all over again.
Nothing on any wall is safe from the daily processions, which proceed according to precedent, with brooms held high, up and down the hall and around the living room. Even the ceiling fan has been a casualty.
Thomas is learning to say grace. The cuteness must be seen to be believed. He has also learned how to say C5 Galaxy Transporter.

If Thomas had been at the Crucifixion

2010-03-09T21:05:00.002-05:00

J and T each have their own crucifix that they found and adopted. Sometimes they just kiss it as they dash past, and sometimes they brandish it aloft and parade singing through the house.

Joe was putting Thomas to bed and the child asked to "say goo-nigh to Dedus." Joe presented the crucifix, and Thomas gave it a slurpy baby-kiss and then stared at it.

"Daddee," he said at last, "I go get my daindaw [chainsaw] an' cut Dedus down fum da coss."

Men at work

2010-03-09T21:04:00.001-05:00

I'm still incredulous of people who say that toddlers and preschoolers have short attention spans and need to be constantly entertained. Thomas was in the living room, alone with his blocks.

John was in his room, alone with the Tinkertoys.

They were both oblivious to anything else for about half an hour.

Oopsie

2010-03-04T21:28:00.000-05:00

Made zucchini bread with the boys this afternoon. There was flour on the floor, flour on the chairs, flour in their hair. But I made a bigger mess than both of them put together, and they were impressed. Want to see what happens when the spaghetti is stored in the cabinet directly above the counter upon which one is breadmaking?

We dig it

2010-02-28T14:34:00.001-05:00

What do you get when you combine a couple feet of melting snow

with a yardful of soggy dirt?

A couple very happy boys.

And a couple VERY muddy snowsuits.

Casper

2010-02-28T14:30:00.000-05:00

Buds

2010-02-24T22:58:00.005-05:00

Playing doctor, with the examination table in the living room. Not sure what function the drill serves...

Hiding in Daddy's dresser. The giggling gave them away.

Thomas waking John up from his nap; he had to climb in to snuggle with him.

And the picture I missed because I didn't run for the camera quite fast enough: both of them processing down the hallway, belting out the usual liturgical hymns (in various stages of recognizability) -- and bumping into the wall every third step or so because each of them has an empty diaper box on his head.

Awoo zains in heffen, payfowus

2010-02-22T20:35:00.004-05:00

Thomas was highly displeased when I placed him in bed this evening. Searching for something to distract him from his determination to climb out, I reached up to the top of the dresser and picked up his icon of St. Thomas More. "Who's this?" I asked, as I showed it to him.

"Dat Zain Domas," he said, and took the icon. "Ook! Zain Domas has a funny hat. An' Zain Domas has a koss [cross]."

"Yes, he's your special saint," I said.

"He my peshul zain," Thomas murmured. Then, addressing the icon, "You my peshul zain. Zee my bed?" And he turned the icon around so St. Thomas could see his stuffed animals.

"Honey, that's just a picture of St. Thomas," I told him, choking down a laugh.

Pause. He stared at it. "Oo make a doh," he said firmly.

"Um.. you want me to make a door?" I guessed.

"I bake it. Zo Zain Domas can come out." He picked up the icon and made to smash it on the crib rail.

Rescuing it quickly, I suggested we say goodnight. "You can say, 'Night night, St. Thomas, pray for me,'" I told him.

He bent over and kissed it solemnly. Then, almost in a whisper, "Nigh nigh, Zain Domas. Wiw oo pay fo' me?"

Somehow I made it out the door before collapsing under the collective cuteness.

Little bug

2010-02-21T20:32:00.003-05:00

John actually napped a few days ago, but as usual Thomas didn't. So I got some one-on-one time with him that afternoon while John slept: a rare occurence.

It was one of those hours where you really do nothing in particular and ordinarily you'd be bored out of your skull, but it hits you hard just how few moments like these you're going to get, so you pay attention. For once.

We mostly played with a bucket of beanbags. First he stacked them into a woodpile. Then he carefully dismantled it and equally carefully reassembled it two feet away. Then he found his little John Deere loader and loaded them up one at a time, pushing them over to my lap and informing me they were piles of dirt. As in, "Dis dirt. Hugo!" [here you go]

Then as I sat on the couch holding the bucket, he climbed up behind me into the window. "There's a beanbag on your head, on your head," I sang (to the tune of "If you're happy and you know it"), placing one on his blond noggin. He giggled and bowed, and the bag slid off with a thunk into the bucket.

I can't believe his Twos are already halfway over next week.

So much for Art

2010-02-16T20:48:00.003-05:00

We went over to Elizabeth's for art class this morning. Plan: snow sculptures and colored water spray bottles. Reality: galumphing about the (truly awesome) snow cave and sledding across the yard. Hot chocolate afterward.

Christy's Malachi (5).

Tomasso pepito.

Elizabeth's Brooke (3) and Christy's Mathias (3).

Elizabeth's Keirstin (9), John, and Elizabeth's Ethan (7).

Snow bunnies

2010-02-07T21:44:00.001-05:00

The driveway cleared, we all went out to play this afternoon in the record snow. I was about to strap on my snowshoes when John asked to try.

I never did get to snowshoe today.

Wee word wizards

2010-02-03T21:55:00.003-05:00

I was a tad remiss in my dinner preparations this evening and we were late to begin. As the boys finished up, Joe glanced at the clock. "Looks like no B-A-T-H tonight," he said.

John froze. He stared. Then: "Bath! Daddy said we're not getting a bath!" he shouted.

Externally, we cheered. Internally, we groaned. "You're right!" Joe and I chorused.

"Yes," John beamed. "I know because I heard da 'B' sound. And de only 'B' word at seven o'clock that makes any sense is 'bath.' Because it's not time for bananas."

Meanwhile, Thomas was boycotting his scrambled egg. "Me wan' appoo! Me get appoo!" he whined, eyeing John's (who had finished his own dinner).

"Thomas, you get nothing else to eat until you finish your eggs," Joe told him.

The child tearfully poked his plate with a tiny finger and whimpered, "Me get else!"

Later, as I placed him in bed, he informed me in no uncertain terms that he was not going to lie down. He sat there and said firmly, "Me no go seep, Mommy."

"Okay," I answered, "that just means there's a long night ahead of you, punkin'."

He looked up at me, puzzled. "No," he said. "Me no have ong nite on my head."

Thomas tidbits

2010-01-23T07:47:00.003-05:00

Thomas builds an elaborate Castle de Lego on the living room floor. "Time for bed," I say, walking toward him to scoop him up. He looks up at me and backs away, clutching the Legos. "No, Mommy, don' pud me to bed," he says clearly. "I'm payin'."

Thomas trips and falls on his knee. "Nee hut," he says. "Need Fozzy Bo." He runs to the fridge for the cold pack, wrenches the door open, and stares. Then: "Hm. Keemo." Alarmed at the sound of the fridge door not closing, I look up, just in time to see him open the flavored coffee creamer bottle and chug the contents. I rescue the bottle, close the door, whisk him away -- and fail miserably to stifle the giggles. He grins as I put him back down. "Me dink keemo un mo' dime," he chirps, and runs back to the kitchen.

The family says evening prayers on the couch. We come to the intercessions. "What do you want to pray for, Thomas?" Joe asks. Usually the response is "I pay fo... me seep. An' Don seep. An' Daddy seep. An' Mommy seep..." This time Thomas pipes gravely, "I pay dat me get cookie."

Oh, nothing

2010-01-21T20:31:00.002-05:00

When I was a kid, my grandmother had a saying that drove me crazy. "Listen to what I mean, not what I say." My response was invariably something like "How on earth can I tell what you mean except by listening to what you say?" Or some other such snarky remark.

Now I know EXACTLY what she meant. John's exactitude is exasperating.

We took the exam for Arithmetic Lesson 8 yesterday. "Does the child say 'zero' when the number is pointed to?" read one question. I drew a circle on our little whiteboard.

"John, what is this?" I asked him.

"An O," he said.

"Well, yes, if it were a letter. But we're doing arithmetic. So what number is it?"

"I don't know," he said, cocking his head.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Of course you know. You knew four lessons ago. What is it?"

"I really don't know, Mommy. There is no number like that. I mean, it's kindof like a zero, except a zero is more skinny. That's an O."

I resisted the manic urge to make him eat the dry-erase marker and gave him a noogie instead.

O prehistoric town of Bethlehem...

2009-12-20T17:52:00.002-05:00

We were given a magnetic Fontanini nativity set last year. I mentioned a while back that each evening the Advent wreath is lit for evening prayer, and at the end we take down the box from the middle. John takes out the Jesse Tree ornament for that day and puts it on the tree; Thomas takes the magnet and puts it on the fridge.

Of course, there are other things in the house that also end up on the fridge...

Me: Why is there a dinosaur in the Nativity scene?

Joe: What's it doing, eating a sheep?

Me: No, it appears to be grazing on a palm tree.

Joe: Oh. Well, there used to be a sheep in the top of that palm tree.

Kissus tee hunt

2009-12-19T16:27:00.002-05:00

With the impending snowstorm, we decided to get our tree a few days early this year.