The Usually Unusual

I believe late summer always finds me extremely random.

It's some strange combination of too much sun, too much time to think, and lots and lots and LOTS of time with my kids. Whom I love. Even when they whistle. Even when they whistle songs that don't exist outside of their heads. Even when they are 15 and still mispronounce "legend" by phonetically saying "leg end" and leave me thinking tibia while they are talking Sleepy Hollow.
See what I mean...random.

I have to record a story right now because it needs to take it's place in the halls of our family history. But I'm warning you...do not continue reading if you are faint of stomach.
You may (or may not) recall that we went to Hawaii in April. Well we left a pregnant cat at home. With my mom. I gave my mom implicit instructions on how to deliver Persian kittens. Persians need help cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the placenta. I told her whatever she does, to NOT LEAVE the cat once labor started because they will let their kittens die if they don't have help. My mom took all this in with a half skeptical half terrified look. I assured her she's make an excellent doula and began to pray.

We got a frantic call in Hawaii that the cat was in labor and when Mom tried to help the cat bit her and broke skin. So she said something like this on the phone, "I'm bleeding. I hate that cat. I'm going to the store to get band aids. I hate that cat." And I wanted to say DON'T LEAVE THE CAT, RECONCILE, there are Band-Aids in the cupboard. But seeing as how I was laying on the beach and my mother was bleeding I wisely said, "I'm so sorry mom. You go get band-aids."
Let's fast forward over the part of this story where she came home to 2 dead kittens. She sent me a picture of the one live one and I had to ask..."Mom is that a dead kitten in the background?" Oops, 3 dead kittens. The good news was that about a week later she found another live one also.

Fast forward to last week. It was Grant's first week home from Trinidad and we celebrated by having friends over. On Monday and Wednesday, several groups of people came to play. Avonlea mentioned at various times during the week that people didn't want to play dress up because it smelled in the dress up area. Finally Mom commented that she thought the cat had pooped on a little pink costume. So later on Wednesday, after all our company left, I grabbed the offensive costume and had Avonlea throw it in the washer. When I opened the washer after it was done, I almost fainted from the smell. I took out the clothes and there was the poop, still solid after a round on sanitize. What had this cat been eating?? I scooped it up with paper towels and found myself looking at a kitten. Or what was left of a kitten. From April. Oops, 4 dead kittens.

Can I just say that this was one of the grosser moments of my life, and if you recall, I have four children, so that's truly saying something.

I don't really feel like writing (or eating) any more after that. But if I did...I'd tell you about my time on the hammock down on the island at the cottage. I took off my glasses and looked at the world, blurry and beautiful. Suddenly I felt like I was blurry, indistinct. I melded with the waving leaves and the laughing brook and the birds flitting all about me. I must have melded for quite a while because when my world came back into focus, I was looking at Rowan yielding a machete (it was actually a stick, I was still fuzzy). He said with concern, "You have been gone for so long! I came to rescue you!" Totally worth putting my glasses on to see each freckle on that precious face.

See I kept writing and I started eating trail mix, too, so that kitten story must not have been that bad.

On Sunday, the people who sold us the cottage came by it to meet us. I officially have new FAVORITE PEOPLE. It was amazing to talk to them and hear of God's faithfulness over the years and how He honors a Godly heritage. We were so encouraged and again recognized God's hand in leading us there.

Next time I write, it will be from a place of school and order and schedule. And I will live a whole year before I have the time to be random again.

This is a good thing.


Photos by Avonlea unless she's in the picture

My Thorny Rose

I am used to waking up when I want to. In other words, I'm spoiled.
This fall, Avonlea started public school. She had to be awake by 6:30am.
That meant to spend time with her in the morning, I had to be up by 6:30am.
That meant that if I wanted to exercise, I had to be up by 6:00am.
That meant OUCH.
But my daughter is more important than my sleep so up I get.
So sleeping in is reserved for an occasional Saturday and the sacrifice is so worth it.

But....last Friday.... I had nothing to be up for. A vast, unlittered morning to relax in bed with my Bible and maybe even breakfast. With a sigh of contentment I snuggled back into my warm bed and opened to the book of Luke.

That must have been some kind of cue, because in to my bedroom blew a Rose.

"Hi mommy. Do you want to snuggle?"
"Sure, come on up. Mommy's reading her Bible right now."
"Cool. Is Jakob coming over today to set up Rowan's drum set?"
"Yep."
(Jakob is the 16 year old son of my friend Natalie)
"I can't wait to see his eyes light up when he sees me."
"Um Rose, he's 16 and you're seven. You're like his little sister."
"No, I'm like his wife." She tosses her head and retorts, "Besides, I'm old for my age and tall for my age and some people think I'm eight."
I close my Bible.
She continues, "AND I have all my children named." She cuddles closer to me, "My first girl's going to be Annie."
Before I can express my gratitude for this honor, she rattles off the names of half a dozen other children that may or may not be a reality one day.
"Those are beautiful names Rose but you'll have to make sure your husband, whoever that may be, agrees with those names."
"No I won't. This is what's going to happen. I'll get married and get pregnant and then my husband will go to war, and I'll name all my children whatever I want."

Suddenly, sleeping in lost all of it's appeal. I was out of that bed with an energy I didn't know I possessed at that early hour.

I'll take 6am exercise to talking to Rose about marriage any day.
She is scary.

Christian Barbies, Bandits, and Nameless Hamsters

If you've been waiting for a hamster update, here it is.
We love our hamster.
I'm not sure it's reciprocated, but we love him. Or her.
I am just calling him "hamster" because he/she is currently unnamed.
He was named Dumpling until I heard Rosy introducing him by saying, "This is our hamster Dumping."
She can't manage the "l" and I can't manage without the "l" so it is now just "hamster".
Grant really wants to name him Aragorn, but I can't manage that either. No resemblance whatsoever!

Anyway, in other news.
Rosy has a favorite song that she sings at the top of her lungs whenever it comes on the radio. It is entitled, "I Want To Live With Abandon." I thought this was very fitting because she does live with abandon. But as I listened closer to what she was singing, I heard this, "I Want To Live With A Bandit." Which I suppose would also be living with abandon. When I tried to correct her, Rowan piped up, "Yeah Rose, it doesn't say bandit. It says Band-Aid."
At which point I turned to the classical station.

Barbies have been boycotted at our house for several years because Rose plays rather scandalous stories with them (we have a Ken, who I believe is at the bottom of all the mischief). But somehow or another Rose talked me into letting her have some up at the cottage. I had Avonlea and her friend put duck tape swimsuits on them all and I thought all scandal would end with the duck, so to speak. I was wrong.
Two week ago when we were up at the cottage, Rose and I went for a walk. We rambled side by side on the trail above the woods and she said, "Mommy, I played a Christian story with my barbies today."
"Good Rosy, I'm so glad you're playing nicely." And then I had to clarify. "What exactly do you mean by "Christian"?"
"Well remember that story you read us in the Bible last week about David and Bathsheba?"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Duck tape was my only consolation at that point.
See what I mean about Ken?

Rose told me today that God has asked her to be a missionary to Africa. When I asked her where in Africa, she replied Turkey.
Either God has some geography issues or Rose needs her ears cleaned out.
Remembering the bandit incident makes me lean toward Rosy's ears.
But I'm thankful that she's called to be a missionary because it's so Christian. And because I don't think there are any barbies in Turkey (but there might to bandits).

I will leave you with a SMALL sample of a group of pictures I found on my camera.

I think maybe God's calling me to Turkey, Africa.

When Your Day Ends With A Hamster

Um, I'm not sure why we came home with a hamster. A hamster named Dumpling, who is residing in his new cage in the parlor. A hamster whom Dave has not yet met.

I suppose it started yesterday when a friend was having tea at my table (doesn't everything always start with tea?). Her 15 year old son is filling in for someone on a traveling music band and is gone for a couple weeks. This is a prelude to all three of her children leaving on missions trips this summer. She said something like, "We may never all sit down at a table together again."

This rocked my world. So much so that I picked up the spout of the teapot and had every intention of pouring tea out the handle.

We are contemplating putting Avonlea in school next year. She is leaving for two months this summer on a mission trip. Both of these things equal a change in our family circle. A broadening and a tightening all at the same time.

So today, I picked Avonlea and Grant up at their math class and I took them to Good Will to kill some time before their piano lesson. Avonlea found it there. A hamster cage. She wanted it. Grant wanted it. No use telling them that we don't have a hamster, they fell in love with a cage. I looked at my two oldest children; loving, responsible children. I melted. I bought the hamster cage.

After Avonlea had math and piano we raced home to take all her medications for Lyme and then sped back out to school testing for 2 1/2 hours. And at the end of this exhausting day, I took her, and met the other kids at the pet store. They all choose the same hamster and fought about who got to carry the box out to the car.

We all worked together to set up the cage and then the four of them sat down around the cage and stared that poor hamster down. Grant looked up at me, love radiating out of his sweet face and said, "This is the best day of my life."

We will sit down at a table together again, God willing. We will sit down around a hamster cage again, God willing. But times are changing, my children are growing up and out. It takes so little to make them happy.  I suppose that is why we came home with a hamster.

A Dappled Octopus With Lips But No Teeth

I walked a path through the woods last week and the sunlight filtered down, colander-like through the leaves. I thought about how whenever I hear the word "dappled" I think of a path just like that. Even if the word is used in a totally different context, I just juxtapose my image over the context to create a new picture.

I think it's fairly common to associate words with certain pictures. When I told a couple of friends that Grant's teacher was "supple" (I meant subtle) I could tell by their faces that they had a definite word picture for that word and it was clashing with the word "teacher".

So it really shouldn't have come as a shock when I discovered that Rose has her own word pictures for life. We were left alone for long hours when Dave took the older kids skiing last Wednesday. We sat out on lawn chairs and looked at the mountain and talked of "shoes and ships and sealing wax; cabbages and kings."

Finally she said, "I used to be on the Debil's team, but I'm on God's team now."
I inhaled, ready to instruct along the lines of, "all have sinned and fall short..."
But she interrupted, "I think Rowan and some of my friends are still on the Debil's team though."
"You know Rosy..."
"Yeah, the Debil used to be a beautiful Angel," (that wasn't what I was going to say). "But now he's an octopus."
"He's an octopus?" I was sincerely wishing I was on a ski slope right about then.
"Yeah a blue octopus. That's how I picture him."
Oh. How she pictures him. I get it.

So I now have a new word picture and it's both supple and subtle and....blue.

Grant also has word pictures apparently. He came in to our room to tell us good morning on Saturday. I got a big kiss and some sweet words and then he started to walk out.
Dave, feeling slighted, said, "Grant don't you love me?"
Grant replied, "Of course I do, you make the money."
Dave, "So you just see dollar signs when you look at me!"
Grant, "Yep, and when I look at Mommy I see lips and love!"

This my friends, is good to know. It's a relief to know he doesn't think of me as a blue octopus or something equally disturbing.

In other random news that has nothing to do with word pictures, I have a pile of teeth on my dresser.
Rowan lost one, two days later on Easter morning Grant lost 2, and the next day Rose lost her other front tooth. The kids look like I've been knocking them around and the tooth fairy is officially stressed out. (The phrase "pile of teeth" and "stressed out tooth fairy" actually do elicit fairly poignant word pictures after all).

Anyway, here are some pictures that don't need words.

With teeth.

One gone.

Both top teeth gone..........

My Island or Lessons Learned From a Bonfire

At the beginning of last year our family spent a week up at our cottage in the woods. One morning we decided to explore the property length-wise following the creek. The six of us trudged through snow and slush and mushy mud. There was no trail so it was hard going. We came to a fallen log that spanned the creek and single-filed it over to the other side. Or did we? Because when we walked forward a little bit, there was the creek again. As we got our bearings, we discovered something that took my breath away.
We were on an island.
Now, if you were to ask me what I wanted most in the world when I was a little girl, I would say a white kitten. But a close second, would have been an island.
To be surrounded by water, the sound of it in both ears, from each side, is incredible.

So this week, up at the cottage again, we cleared the island. Cleared it of decades of dead wood and leaves and brush. We had bonfires for several days which taught me several interesting lessons. One being, that fires can actually curl and bleach your hair if you get too close. It's true. It's also true that the hair then disintegrates after it's had its moment being curly and blond. Also, if you burn too many fingers too badly then it is difficult to play card games with the kids at night. At one point Grant informed me that I had a lot of black soot on my chin. He said, "Um Mom, you have a beard. But it looks really good on you." I would have never known I look good in a beard if it wasn't for the bonfire.

What was I talking about? Ahh yes, islands. Anyway, so we cleared the island. And I began to decorate it. Did you know you can decorate islands? Mine is going to have a big hammock, I have the lucky trees picked out for it. It's also going to have a pavilion with mesh curtains, a table and chairs, and cots for sleeping at night when there's more people then will fit on the hammock. There is already a fire pit (where I learned the lessons randomly stated in the previous paragraph).

I made a lot of these plans while painting the dining room an intriguing blue-gray. Which leads me to another interesting point. You can decorate an island while decorating another room.
Creativity begets creativity my friends.

When I told my beloved husband my plans for the island he was naturally a little stunned.
But maybe that's because his wife had curly blond hair and a black beard.
I'm not sure.

Anyway, I really like my island.
Just in case you were curious, I got a white kitten several years ago.
I have no plans for growing a permanent beard.

My island...log bridge on left

I love my orange chair in the woods.

Rowan trying to figure out how to cross.

Posy posing with logs.

Brothers on a mossy rock with hair curling fire behind them.

Goofy kids on their Daddy.

This Life We Eat or This Food We Live

I used to eat ice cream for breakfast.
Mint chocolate chip or
Peanut butter chocolate in a pinch.

I didn't just have a sweet tooth, but a whole sweet mouth.
I ate what I wanted and didn't really care what was in it, as long as it was yummy.

I could make cookies by myself without a recipe by the time I was 7.
When Avonlea was 7 she was well on her way to such heights of accomplishment, when it hit.
Allergies.
Gluten. Dairy. Eggs. Sugar.

Avonlea sat in the doctor's office and described her allergic reactions.
She kept saying, "But that's not allergies because my Daddy does it, too."
And as I sat there and her words worked their way through my brain I realized what I later told her in the car, "Life as we know it is over."

Dave did indeed have the same allergies as she did. So did Grant. And Rowan. Rosy's reaction to egg produced an emergency room visit.

To make a long story short, I no longer eat ice cream for breakfast.
We now eat very differently and I've come to terms with it all.
Soaking grains can be fun. Really.
Raw milk is yummy and the cream on top can be made into ice cream. With honey.

I know how this all has affected me but sometimes I forget that my children also have been affected by these limitations and food awareness.
And then I'm reminded.

Dave took Grant hunting this month. Dave had grabbed a bunch of food at the store before they left. He later told me that Grant refused to eat the canned chili that he made for dinner. Why? Grant read the label, spotted "Trans fat" in the nutritional information, and wanted nothing to do with it. He wouldn't eat it. Dave scoffed at him, ate it, and was later sick. Grant had a moment of "I told you so."

So my ten year old checks labels and won't eat it if it's not healthy...it gets worse.

Monday night we watched Sound of Music as a family. At the opening of the film it is announced that the movie is modified to fit the screen.
Avonlea turned to me gaping, "They modified the movie!" Yes my daughter knows about genetically modified foods, which we avoid at all costs, and thought that they somehow did something unhealthy to the movie. I had to assure that it was perfectly safe to watch.
I was still reeling from this when the part in the movie comes where the kids and Maria buy fruit at the stand and take it up into the mountains to have a picnic. During this charming scene, where the boys are playing ball and the girls are lounging while they eat their fruit, Rosy turned to me in consternation and said, "They didn't wash that fruit!"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I explained lamely that they probably did but just didn't show it and I toyed with the idea of explaining to her that they probably didn't use harmful pesticides at that time, but I let it pass.

I think I'm going to go make some ice cream for breakfast.

Random End of Season Ramblings

It's been along time since I've sat down to write at the computer.
I've been busy.
It's been a distinctly good summer,
but I'm ready to move on into the school year.
The children are antsy and Grumpy Mommy has emerged
to quell them.
They prayed out loud for me while we drove in the car today.
They prayed that I wouldn't be so grumpy. Every one of them sent up a petition.
It was touching.
Really.
And it helped for approximately five minutes.
So, hurrah for a schedule around here, where Grumpy Mommy turns into Purring Mommy who resembles the Persian cats (minus the clogged eye ducts).

Here are some pictures of when Dave took the kids camping last week.

These are some reasons that I don't go camping with them. They eat things like crayfish. This time the boys also, creatively, caught water skaters, boiled them, and ate them, too. Yum.

On the way up to the cottage Avonlea decided to read out loud to the kids. Now, our family has never used the term "butt" we say "bum". I'm proper that way. However, I didn't realized that none of our kids even know what that term means. Avonlea is reading a book aloud about a canyon and the word "buttes" figures into the story heavily. She pronounces this "butts". I correct her once. She ignores me. I'm starting to get rather uncomfortable but am unsure of how to proceed. Then she reads the sentence, "So they sat down around the campfire and stared up at all the beautiful, shining, butts." An anatomy conversation followed.

Our time at the cottage was exciting. The pear harvest is beginning and there are workers and trucks and bustle everywhere. Avonlea and Grant were able to help harvest Bartlett's on Sunday. They loved it! The farmers who farm our orchard are wonderful people and they are so good to the kids. Farmer Dave showed the kids how to trap gophers. He took them to one of the traps and showed them the dead gopher, buried it, and then showed them how to reset the trap. This is the equivalent of Heaven to my boys. Rosy however, dubbed Farmer Dave, "Bloody Gopher Man." She was disciplined and she told him sorry, but we can't get the name out of our heads. She has a way with words and I wouldn't be surprised if she ends up naming lipsticks for a living. The boys unburied the dead gopher to show Dave. They then attempted to unearth the poor soul again to show me. I wouldn't have it. No matter, I dreamt of Pet Cemetery all night that night. A crazy jumble of giant gophers, snapping traps, and Bloody Gopher Man.

I've been immersed in the book The Outliers. I'd be immersed in it this minute if it wasn't for the fact that Dave took it and immersed himself. Anyway, it's about the 10,000 hour theory. In short, the idea that if you practice anything for 10,000 hours you will be exceptional at it. So of course I took it and applied it to homeschooling. Most people don't know what they really want to do until they're older. What if you knew at 7 and started racking up the hours while most kids your age were eating water skippers? So....I explained all this to Avonlea, who practices music an hour and a half a day already, and asked her if that was want she wanted to excel at. Her answered picked up my world and shook it like a snow globe. She said, "What I really want to do is get married and be a mommy. I want to home school my children. I want to be like you. So really, I don't need to know anything."

The day after this comment I went out and bought a guitar. The day after that I got CDs that will apparently teach me French while I drive and I can already say "What do you want?" in French, so I suppose it's working. I guess Avonlea's comment made me wonder what I have learned intellectually in the last ten years. Surprisingly little. I haven't pursued knowledge, but it's pursued me. The things I've learned, I've learned for the sake of survival. God's brought the life lessons I've needed when I needed them. So maybe this too, has come at an opportune time. I can spend an hour a night working on French and guitar. At that rate, I'll be exceptional in 27 years, 145 days.

And then, won't you be glad you know me?

I wonder if lipstick naming is lucrative.

I think I see Him!

My mom's always told me that Jesus could come back at any time.
I believe her, but I wish she'd stop watching for just a minute and let me take her picture.

Clarification and 80's Love Songs

Apparently quiet time did not solve all my problems. I wrote my post last night and entitled it "Real Life" after the poem of the same title that I was going to close with. I forgot to add the poem and caused some heads to tilt in confusion. Sorry. I'm not going to post that poem now because it wouldn't make any sense with this post which is about '80's love songs. Did you get that?

Ahem.

So I have this fear. A creepy-crawly-hair raising kind of fear that I appear too spiritual on this blog. I don't want you to think that I only see the holy side of life, because that's not true. I see every side of life and sometimes I can focus right and see the eternal aspect of it and sometimes I can't. But I also see how far short of those holy landscapes I fall. Grace has to boost me up on a regular basis.
So, it's maybe misleading for me to write that I went up to the mountain and sat quietly for 16 days. Because that's not totally true. I had a couple unholy nights.
One of them started with my wardrobe selection. I was in such a hurry to get up there that I grabbed a basket full of clothing that did not match each other in the least. I had one outfit that worked. The rest were odds and ends and random colors that made me moan when I opened my drawer in the morning.
One morning when I was alone, I ended up in a light pink t-shirt with black undergarments. I looked like Madonna. This made me laugh.
That night when I was painting the bathroom I had a crazy idea. Dave had left his computer and I decided to turn on Pandora and hit their '80's love song station. I haven't listened to 80's love songs since the '90's. I swear. I'm really not sure what possessed me except the aforesaid pink/black Madonna combo.
The first few songs were about broken hearts and I remembered Page and I listening to them and crying. Not, mind you, because we had boyfriends that had broken up with us, but because someday we might, and wouldn't that be sad?????
Then I started listening to the words of these songs, and they were so funny.

"I should've known better than to fall in love with you...."
"Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool...."
"I'm never going to dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm..."
"The beating of my heart is a drum and it's lost and it's looking for a rhythm like you..."
"Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart..."

I could go on.
That last one was from my all time favorite 80's song entitled "Total Eclipse of the Heart." When it came on, my paintbrush froze mid-stroke and my mouth gaped. Oh the memories! Dancing in the kitchen on a summer night (by myself), riding the waves of that passionate song. Oh and here it comes...my favorite line...I have to sing it loudly...."I'm living in a powder keg and giving off sparks!!!!" Yes! Who cares that for years I didn't know what a powder keg was and sang "polygon" instead. It worked and no one ever knew. The important thing was that I WAS IGNITING!!!

I completely cracked myself up that night in the cottage bathroom.
I wasn't quiet.
I wasn't praying.
But I think God was entertained.
So I suppose it was holy after all.

The Gift That Wasn't

It was Avonlea's idea.
There, you know it will be a good post when I start out blaming my daughter.
Avonlea had inherited our old camera and she thought getting a kids camera for Rose, for Christmas, would be fun.
I admitted to the fun potential and bought Rose a snazzy pink camera. I failed to read the fine print, or any of the print for that matter. Print, that boasted of the camera's ability to take videos, edit pictures, and play video games.
Last week, Dave saw that Rose's card was full and decided to delete some pictures and video. The laughter that accompanied this procedure was curious.
There were many pictures of my friend and I having tea. The kids had hidden and taken incredibly embarrassing pictures of our animated discussion. There was also some video. (No comment on that.)
Then there was video of me in bed reading. This wasn't so bad until the boys jumped in next to me and you see my arm begin randomly smacking them. I was still reading and have no recollection of doing this. But there it is, on video. Apparently I beat my children if they disturb me while I'm reading. Who knew?
Then there were the pictures of Dave getting dressed. (All I can say there is, better him than me.)
Then we got to the photo shop area of the camera where the nasty pictures of us were distorted, made into puzzles, had crowns added to them, or possibly all three.
Rosy showed me one of the puzzles she had made out of a picture. I was having trouble figuring out what it was so I asked, "What is that a picture of?" She twinkled an answer, "It's your bottom."
This was all on Rosy's camera. Apparently, Avonlea as well, has been documenting our family life. She's videoed Rowan disobeying and Ma Glo calmly washing the dishes while Rowan disobeyed. She also took video going down the path to the creek for her friends to see, unfortunately she tripped on the way down.
Yesterday, I hit my camera limit when Rosy cried because Rowan was using photo shop on a picture she didn't want photo shopped (or something equally disturbing). I took the camera and hid it in the back of my closet.
Where the only family documentation it can produce is of the state of disorder of my shoes.
Better them, than me.

Monday

Okay so he's not the most musical child. But he's cute and he just lost his other front tooth today, 6 days before Christmas. Gotta love it.

Avonlea lost TWO teeth today. My day was spent mixing salt water and cleaning blood splattered sinks. Really....three teeth in one day...the tooth fairy needs a raise.

Speaking of fairies, we (Dave, I, and our gum gnashing clan) went to the Nutcracker tonight.

Rose was in ballerina heaven. Grant endured until intermission when he asked loudly, "Is it half time?" We are obviously lacking culture....
During the aforesaid intermission Rowan pointed out a blond girl sitting in front of us to the right. She was maybe 13.
"I think she's beautiful. I like her shiny gold head."
I give a scared smile, nod weakly.
"I bet she's nice, too. Although," he pauses long enough to give me a shwed glance, "just because they're beautiful, doesn't mean they're nice."
I find my tongue, "NO, it does not."
"Do you think I could hang from the balcony by two fingers?"
He changes the subject and I breath freely once more.

Really with laundry, Rose throwing up on the kitchen floor, three teeth extracted, people calling to get the kittens, the Nutcracker and beautiful girls, the tooth fairy is exausted and a little stunned.

Good night.

Where men wear skirts....

No I am not referring to California.

I am referencing Scotland and I suppose they would be offended at the term "skirts." They wear kilts.
In case you didn't know...Scottish pride is alive and well in Washington. I know because I spent a day at the Highland Festival in Enumclaw, Washington.
It was loud.
Bagpipes and drums were a popular choice of instrument. No one seemed to be playing them in unison, just random men in kilts and knee socks walking around blowing.
Very interesting.
Perhaps you are wondering if I am trying to get in touch with my Scottish heritage. I do not have any.
Mom had them look up several genealogies because she thinks a Jewish tribe migrated up there at some point. They broke it very gently to her that Lictenwallner was not a Scottish name and did not have a tartan. Not even an ugly tartan.
We went to this event for the sake of Avonlea. She competed with her harp for the first time.

She won first place in the festival beginner competition.
She went on to the finals to win first place also.
She did excellent.
However, she would have won regardless, because she was the only beginning harpist there.
This, my friends, is called anticlimactic.
After the competition, they had what is called a "harp circle" where a group of harpists go around the circle and play, one at a time, a Scottish air.
My younger children, who are so uncultured as to not appreciate 3 hours of harp music, aborted with Dave for the kennels.

Avonlea, Mom, Grant, me, and a bunch of guys and girls in skirts, sat in the shade of a tent and listened enchanted to amazing music.
The wind whispered, the bagpipes droned in the distance, Grant dozed with his head on my lap (it wasn't until he awoke that I saw the pool of drool on my linen skirt), it was truly magical.
My daughter's teacher, played and sang with her sister, and they were delightful, evoking laughter and tears in quick succession.
To think, I would have never known this Scottish beauty if I hadn't come!

As delightful as it was, the children were done after one day, so we decided to head up to Seattle and spend the morning at Pike's Place Market before we went home.
I tried to explain to the kids on the way, that they would probably see quite a few weird people in downtown Seattle.
Grant interrupted with, "Weirder than a bunch of guys in skirts?"
Good point.
However when Rowan saw the man with his head back, balancing a guitar on his chin while he played  a harmonica and twirled a hula hoop around his waist, he declared, "I found the weirdo!"
Ahem.

We headed a bit further north after the market and went to the brand new Seattle American Girl store.
My American girls were in doll heaven and my boys found REI.

My mother managed to get lost in the mall....for a really long time. She finally realized that her cell phone was on silence. Dave said he felt like he had five children.
When we finally got everyone rounded up and in the car I asked her what in the world she had been doing that whole time.
She replied, very innocently, "I just ran through Coldwater Creek and a few other...."
Grant interrupted in disgust, "You were running through a cold creek and we were just sitting there waiting for you!"
Definitely time to go home. Too many countries in too short a time. Too many interesting people to process. Time to go on back to reality, where the Jews are in Israel, and men either balance guitars or do hula hoops, where Coldwater Creek is a store, and where men wear pants.

If Found, Please Return

My children have a lovely piano teacher. Really, truly, a storybook/movie kind of piano teacher. She genuinely loves all of her students. She talks to them. Laughs with them. Accepts them.

She does her job well and with joy, and the blessings drip down and soak our home with music and self discipline.

Avonlea used to ask, when she was little, "I know she's not my grandma, but could she be my aunt, mommy?"

She wanted to belong to her in some way. I don't blame her.

However....our piano teacher does have one very small character blemish.

She likes to gallivant.

She has a son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter that are missionaries in Slovenia (yes, she's the type to woman who raises missionaries, I told you), and she likes to visit them.

For long periods of time.

This in and of itself is not the problem.

The month long break is actually refreshing to the schedule.

The barb here is that she gave the kids their recital music the week before she left.

And it's show tunes.

Singing in the Rain, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and Angel of Music have been pounding through my home (and might I mention my temples) for several weeks now.

And there are questions.

Such as, "How do you flat an "F". Why wouldn't they just say "E"?"

UMMMMM........(why didn't I take more lessons?)

And..."What do you do when your hands can't stretch as far as the two notes?"

And...several others that I have forgotten because I couldn't hear them over the pounding temples.

So....if you happen to be in Slovenia or Italy or Austria and you see a beautiful, graceful, Italian looking lady wearing shiny jewelry and flip flops, please send her home.

Because we miss her.

And her niece and nephew need her.

And because I don't drink, but I'm thinking about starting.

And because Rowan doesn't quite pronounce "Chitty Chitty" right when singing along.

Potty Talk

If you've known me very long, you know that I hate poop. Hate it. I hated changing my babies diapers and potty trained them at an absurdly young age. Yet, I know that it happens, that it is a natural, normal function, and I deal with it. However, I do not enjoy it, nor do I find it humorous in any way.
Crass joking is a sure fire way to get a very dirty look from me. Part of the reason I dislike that type of joking is because it seems to perpetuate itself. It's easy to begin, hard to stop, and very quickly gets out of hand. Because of this, it's not allowed in our home. However, with four children and several dozens of other children that come in and out of this home, it sometimes very innocently happens.
For example, Dave was telling the kids a story about when he and his friend Jake got a frisbee and some apricots stolen from them. The point of the story was that people are more important than things and they prayed that whoever took them would be blessed by them. Dave said, "Yeah, we just imagined a couple of bums at the park playing frisbee and eating apricots." His conclusion was met with down cast eyes and silence. Finally Rowan said, "Don't be crass Daddy." Dave looked at me in bewilderment. I started laughing because I realized that the only definition of "bum" that they knew was "bottom, rear, etc." I told him to tell it again and try saying "hobo" instead! Grant was visibly relieved that Daddy wasn't being gross but said he was going to have trouble getting the picture of, "bums catching frisbees in their cracks," out of his head.

Then today, Rowan was cutting pieces of a hen out to glue on his paper. I said, "okay Rowan, let's glue on your body now." The room became intensely silent. I looked up and my eyes caught Rose's shocked expression as she said, "Mommy, Rowan's potty is glued on!?" ("potty" is the term we use to refer to "privates")
I explained that I used a "b" for body and that we were creating the little red hen, but that comment started the downfall. A few wings later, Avonlea said, "Mommy I just read something SO interesting can I read it to you?" I was still up to my beak in glue but absently agreed. She proceeded, "Wood chucks breed 20-40 times a minute." I put the glue on the desk. "Really." She continued, "Yeah, but even more when they're excited!" My mind whirled. I knew about rabbits of course, but I had never heard about woodchucks and what the heck did she mean by excited? She goes on, "Yeah but if they're really relaxed they can just do it like once every five minutes." And we've been trying to have kittens for a year! How much do wood chucks go for? My mind is reeling in possibilities. Avonlea looked at my open mouth gaze and said, "Mom, I said breathe."
"Ohhhhhhhh breathe."
See what I mean about things going downhill quickly. Later today, at ballet class, one of my little dancers had stomach issues and the red flags of her condition were waving wildly, so to speak. Every time we leaned forward in our stretch the room reverberated with cannon accent.
And I had to laugh.

(Please note the distinction between a cute little tooter in pink tulle and a big hairy man cutting loose the bonds of propriety.)

The Shallows

I know that those of you who don't know me well and read my musings must think I'm a little crazy. I go from posts about pianos parked on sidewalks to wrestling with angels to mating cats at an alarming rate. And that's kinda me. I swim in the depths and revel in them and then I come up to the surface for air and find that very enjoyable as well.
So I emerged today and found laughter waiting for me.
Dave's birthday was a day to thank God for the blessing of a wonderful husband and father.
My sister and the kids' cousin, Summer, came for a visit. I think Summer is getting to old for dancing (however I'm not sure how that's possible because I'm not too old for dancing).

Rowan fell asleep like this and I found it very amusing.

Posy's face makes me laugh. She's wistful and naughty and little.

Here is what's been cracking me up lately. Our cat's fur was matted so we decided to...

Shave him. Doesn't he look hilarious. He's frightfully self-conscious which makes it even more funny.

Cherries

I'm pretty sure that if I were Eve, and the naughty tree happened to be a rainier cherry tree, we'd be in the same sinful predicament.
I love them.
White meat protected by dusky red skin. I eat one with both hands, wrapped, like I'm playing a harmonica.
My mother buys them for me. My husband buys them for me. My friend brings me a bag home from her farm. Too bad my birthday's not in July.
On my wedding morn I soaked in a bubble bath with a bowl of cherries. It was quite romantic.
I look forward to this time every year and I get, really, unutterable joy from cherries.
Can anything be more poignant than a bowl of cherries?