This I know.

I know one thing about mothering. One thing beyond a shadow of a doubt. It is this:

My Words Have Power.

The words I speak to my children create reality for them. I can tear down or build up with my words. That's my job. Everyday I must selectively demolish and build. Demolish the bad-- harmful habits, hurtful words, disrespectful patterns of speech and behavior. Build the good-- diligence, bravery, perseverance, kindness in speech and actions, faithfulness in the little things and self-control. I build these things largely by talking about them, teaching them, praising their first timid appearances in my children's characters.

So I know this. The problem is, sometimes the demolition seems to take up all my energy, all my time and emotional resources. Sometimes the bad and ugly seem to rise far, far above my puny little wrecking balls and loom over my head with promises of visiting my children in juvie one day soon... the little delinquents.

Today I woke up remembering that demolition is only half of my job. If I tear down and neglect to build in it's place, then I create a vacuum, and we all know how nature feels about that. If I spend all my time disciplining, training, giving out consequences and negatively reinforcing, and then collapse in exhaustion on the couch, my household momentarily bullied into a semblance of peace, then I've missed it. Because while I rest and recuperate, slowly at first and building to a tempest, comes in all manner of  horrible things pouring into the vacuum created by my unfinished work.

Today I woke up determined to do some Rebuilding. I had to slow down first. As always. It always starts there. Giving up my right to Accomplish Many Things. So we started slooooow. We did our chores. We went for a looooong slooooow walk.

We ate lunch.

We read books.

We drew pictures.

That's it. That's all I did today. At least, on the surface. But down deep in Judah's heart I was building all day. Laying the foundation of the man he's going to become one day-- by God's Grace. I praised his bike-riding. His strength. His endurance (he biked nearly four miles while I ran with Jamie in the stroller). I told him about scientists and their keen powers of observation when he noticed a funny kind of grass growing beside the path. "Hooray! I'm going to be a scientist one day!!"

And all the rest of the ride he noticed. Everything. I mean it. Ev. Erything. I was interested in him all day. I taught him that he is important to me, that I care about what he has to say, that I enjoy talking to him and listening. (I'm writing this post in 45 sec bursts, in between helping him with his snapping turtle play-do sculpture).

I know my work is not done because we had one good day. I know there will be plenty to knock down and tear out tomorrow, but I've been encouraged in my determination to Speak Truth into my children's lives. Partly because because I can see it working....




"Mom, sin is really tough to fight. When we try to fight it, we lose... but if we relax... if we relax down in... God can get up and fight it away for us. It's like a big wall in front and we relax down behind and God can *swooosh* fight off Satan for us.You know how in church? In Church we say dat when we sing and pray... Satan TREMBLES? You know dat? It's jist like dat."

I live at the O.K. Corral

Getting the boys dressed in the morning has become a Ultimate Fighting Championship Event. The diaper changing, shirt putting-on and shoe-ing is punctuated with fisticuffs, gunfights and jousting.

One might ask, justifiably, if perhaps letting a nearly-five-year-old engage in fisticuffs with his baby brother might be a wee tad bit un-even of a fight. One would be wrong in this case. James is... scrappy. Very scrappy. He gives just about as good as he gets-- despite the fact that he's half Judah's size and weight.

He also has the advantage that he makes Jude nearly helpless with laughter. It's really hard to maintain the necessary Superhero-esque focus when a pint-sized fury is running at your knees, screaming "Waaaaargharg!!!!" Judah giggles uncontrollably as James takes him to the floor and pummels his stomach with both tiny fists.

They both love it. They revel in it. The testosterone is almost visible.

But this morning I think perhaps some guidance from an older, wiser and more chivalrous testosterone-producer may be in order after hearing this:



"Here Jamie, I'll be right back. You just shoot Mama instead for a few minutes till I get back."

Photo Dump: Playdate with Miss Annie Moon

Things I love today

The lingering presence of my husband in a faint smell of tobacco, a pipe, and ash on the porch table beside a green glass whiskey tumbler and a worn copy of the Life and Work of Dante Alighieri.

A week off for Spring Break.

Kids, shivering in the pool, determined that "It's not cold, M-m-m-mom-mm-mmy!"

Eighty-degree days in March

Answered prayers, and the Lord's provisions

Azalea blossoms

Friends who don't mind packing into our tiny dining room, or balancing their plates on their knees while wedged, three-deep, on the two-seater couch.

My sleepy baby boy, pudgy fingers clamped tight to chubby cheek, nursing lazily, eyes rolling in contented satisfaction.

My big boy, charging from couch to floor, bouncing off the walls (literally) and shifting from superhero to knight to warrior and back again, in constant energetic motion.

My talltall girl. Long-legged, grey-eyed, stormy-cloudy-- then suddenly sunny again. From the height's to the depths and back again in nanoseconds.

An almost-decade of loving this man.

Overheard at our house

Judah runs inside, proclaiming...

I found a lizard, I found a lizard!

(they're everywhere here, but the kids still find it a novelty)

Me: Oh boy! Was it a big one?

Judah: yes, it was weeeally BIG. And it talked to me! *nods vehemently*

Me: Oh really? What did it say?

Judah: It said, hello, do you want to be my friend? and I said yes!



Earlier today:

Sofi: I want to grow up right now and move to Russia and buy a house and have ten kids!

Me: Oh my. Really? Well, go for it!

Sofi: Weell, maybe only eight kids.

My baby's in a real bed now...

Isn't that a great bunkbed? Craigslist, $125-- including mattresses. SCORE!! So much sturdier than the one Sofi's been using all these years. We finally let it go to the dump. Didn't think it would survive the move. It had given my family at least 25 years of good service. R.I.P.

The Hot New Show Off Broadway

It's this awesome version of the old classic "Cinderella", but with a modern twist!

In the second scene, Prince Charming goes rogue and starts karate chopping Cinderella ("peschaw, peschaw, peschaw!!!"), while the producer/director/fairy godmother hisses horrified remonstrations from the wings. Cinderella screams for help for about fifteen seconds and then body-slams the Prince into the mattress formerly representing the ballroom floor. A general free-for-all ensues ending with the producer/director/fairy godmother stomping off the stage pronouncing "I GIVE UP!" and Prince Charming crying for Daddy, while Cinderella prevails due to sheer body weight advantage.


Best reproduction EVER!


Congrats to Sofi on her producing/directing/fairy godmother debut :)

For Uncle Ben and Aunt Susi, who missed it :(

Oh. Brother.

We interrupt the previously scheduled programming of emotional spillage to share with you the saga of Our Stray Puppy.

Yep. It's happened. In classic "Leave It To Beaver" style, my children have fallen in love with a stray puppy that happened upon us as we were innocently wending our way to the park yesterday. They have named it "Oh Shucks". Why, you ask, gentle reader? Because that was my initial reaction to it's presence. Trust me when I say that was the censored version of what was actually going through my head.

The puppy followed us home and was waiting eagerly in the yard this morning when the children went out to play.

It's rather disconcerting to hear one's children yelling "Shuuu-uucks, Oh Shuuuu-uuuucks" all morning. You can probably hear it all over the neighborhood. Vocal stamina and volume run strong within us.

This is bad. Very Bad.

I am not a pet person. I discovered this when we had our dog, Lucky. Most of you have already heard all about Lucky. I will not bore you with repetitions of his many sins. Let's just say we discovered that I prefer intact flower beds, dry couches and a flea-less existence to the companionship and entertainment supposedly provided by the canine species. No offense, Laurie and Matt.

So now what do I do? I am loathe to call the SPCA. Ours is not a no-kill shelter. As far as I know we don't even have one in this county. Any other, humane suggestions? Anybody want a puppy?

Should I be worried about this?

Over heard, from across the house...


Judah, in a gasping voice: I'm wounded! I'm dying, hurry Sofi, hurry!

Sofi, frantically rushing towards him with his dino water bottle: Here, soldier, here, drink this potion! It will heal your wounds.


Later that day...

Judah: Mama! Don't take my wadah boddle off my belt! It's my potion! I need my potion!

*twitch* *shudder* *scratch* *blink rapidly*

You all know by now that I have issues with dirt. Specifically grit and dirt on floors. Matter of fact, just saying the word "grit" makes my left eye twitch. I put up with clutter and the general disorder of daily life with children in a small house fairly philosophically. But dirt, grime and grit on my floors, food leavings on the dining room table and dust on the furniture is my kryptonite. I can't stand it. It really makes me crazy. I'm surprised my vacuum cleaner is still working, with all the mileage I've put on it in the last eight years (weddings present). For instance, today I've vacuumed the entire house twice. I also vacuumed it on Sunday afternoon. And Saturday. See? I'm telling you, it's an unhealthy obsession. Part of the family OCD issues making their appearance, I reckon.

Also. My children are not allowed to play in Mommy and Daddy's bedroom. I have been censured for this. I specifically remember one friend (who shall remain nameless and unashamed) who waxed eloquent over her memories of hours spent cuddled in her parent's large bed, reading and playing with dolls and other toys and romping in childish delight. Uh-uh. Nope. Not my bed. This bed (I'm sitting here in bed with my laptop as I write) is for Other Things. I will not go there at this moment, but I'm sure you can just fill in the blank. This room is my sanctuary. I love my children and accept the fact that for the next fifteen or twenty years our house will be filled with all manner of kid paraphanalia on every stackable surface. BUT! Our bedroom is for OUR stuff. No kid things allowed.

Trust me, I am going somewhere with the above two seemingly completely unrelated paragraphs.

This afternoon, while I was teaching, the children took their snack of crackers (*shudder*) and sesame sticks (*twitch*) into MY BED AND ATE IT THERE.

Also on my bed was a load of clean, but not yet folded laundry.

There were crumbs on the floor. All over the floor. There were crumbs all over the duvet. There were crumbs under the duvet on my cozy fluffy blanket. There were crumbs on the bedside table. There were crumbs ON MY PILLOW!! There were crumbs in my shoes sitting beside the bed. There were crumb-y children covered in crumbs ROLLING AROUND IN THE CLEAN LAUNDRY and making tiger and kitty noises at me when I walked in an hour later.

*hysterical laughter and tears*

Tiger and kitty noises!!!

Candlelight, Scrabble and a lovely glass of the Buble: or "How We Almost Burned Down the House Accompanied by Some Light Jazz"

One of my favorite blogs on my blogroll is Ordinary Days. Sarah is an ex-Marine (I think. Forgive me if I got the wrong branch of the military-- which, I understand, is a cardinal sin) and mom who writes with humor and pep. I kinda borrowed some of her ideas here...

Those of you with kids know that keeping a marriage...interesting, let's say...can be something of a challenge and requires effort, planning and creativity. Am I right? Yes, I am. I like to think that in our marriage we implement all of the above and have maintained just the right mixture of sugar and spice.

A short while ago, in the interest of maintaining said interesting marriage, I put the kids to bed and prepared to greet J (coming home late from teaching the night class) with some candles, wine, a little Michael Buble and the suggestion of a nice, romantic evening of... Scrabble. (go on, check it out, i'll wait. the rest of this won't make any sense unless you go and read. ready now? ok)

It was really nice. I pulled out all the stops. I had candles on the tables, the bookshelves, the floor and a roaring fire in the stove. We had wine and music and appropriate Scrabble-playing attire. Very appropriate. The children were asleep in their beds. J arrived home. The game was on.

I don't think I mentioned that this whole episode occurred during our bout with the flu, did I? Children don't sleep very soundly when they have the flu.

"Mama. Why are there blankets and candles all over the living room?"

"Oh, well. Mama and Daddy are having a little... picnic. Go back to bed."

(thank God for robes)

A little while later, sounds of coughing and choking and lack of breathing swing us into action with the steamy shower treatment for that croupy cough-- you know how it goes.

A little while after that, once the wine and the jazz have RE-worked their magic, just as the Scrabble game is getting veeery interesting... the candlelight is soft, the comforter is cushy, the... whaaa?? What is up with that candle over there on the floor... uh oh. Wow. Hey, it looks like maybe... yep. The floor is on fire. Lookee there.

I really wish I had pictures of that fire. I mean, how often do you get to see pictures of the very beginnings of a house burning down, right? Usually it's all....



But who ever photographs the first few flames, right? But, while I am not above postponing the dousing of a kitchen fire for the purposes of photographing it for the blog, I draw the line at a flaming living room floor. Beside, I tend to try and keep the camera as far away from our games of Scrabble as I can.

We went on to put out the floor fire and Scrabble was resumed. It was a good game and nothing was lost due to the frequent and traumatic interruptions. Like I said, it takes Effort, Planning and Creativity. And also a sense of humor and some perseverance.

From Floor Fire

Summer's Final Curtain Call

(and showing off Judah's new coat)



















Every year my roses, once delivered by cold nights from the scourge of bugs and drought, give a final burst of Fall Bloom.







I feel compelled to add (since I'm already tooting my own horn, here) that most of these shots are SOOC! Haven't I come a long way?????