Right hand girl

A while back, as part of attempt at compromise, we started attending a different, mutually acceptable church.  The services were enjoyable, and everyone liked going, but unfortunately it wasn't meant to be.  That being said, Songbird has continued to attend their youth activities.  She found out about a youth convention, plastered the note on the fridge, then set about earning money to go.  She almost vibrated with anticipation as the prospect of spending almost 11 hours younger sibling and parent free in a different city got closer and closer. At last the day arrived and she was off!

I think every parent has moments when their children are gone that they worry.  I have made concerted efforts to avoid having other people drive my children to and from places, including my own husband.  I understand that this doesn't mean an accident won't happen, but what it does mean is that I would be with them.  The day was cold and rainy, and my mind mulled over concern of 100 different scenarios simultaneously.  What if the car slid in the rain - or someone slid into them?  They would be coming back on a two hour drive late at night on a Sunday...what if the driver got sleepy, or another car lost control?  I kept these concerns mainly to myself, because I was sure my husband would roll his eyes, and kept myself busy.

Things went smoothly the first few hours on the home front...within five minutes the other children were pelting us with questions about whether Songbird would ever return, and during dinner there was a shared lament over that she wasn't there, but otherwise things were okay.  Then we got the type of phone call that every parent dreads. 

"I fell. I'm okay - but they said I had to call."

The usual questions followed about what happened and such (she had been roller skating).  With the wonders of modern technology we had her take pictures of her injury, and then the opposite arm for comparison purposed, then ultimately decided that if she felt that she could stay, that we would allow her to.  I thought for a few moments on how this technology would have eased the hearts of many parents in the past when their children called about accidents of one kind and another, to be able to know what they are facing.

I called every two hours after that, to check up and make sure she was fine, all of which were answered in the affirmative.  My husband was virtually beside himself, expressing as much concern as someone who is typically fairly stoic about his emotions does in the form of asking a question about whether or not we shouldn't go pick her up anyways...repeatedly....as in every three minutes.  For him this is the equivalent of someone wailing hysterically "My baby, my precious baby, she's hurt and I must see her now.  The very best doctors - nothing less. Oh my baaaabbbby."

She got home quite late, exhausted but moderately happy with the experience, and asked just to go to bed, verses going to the emergency room to get it checked out.  The swelling appeared to have gone down some, so we agreed.  As soon as I was up in the morning I checked her wrist, and after making sure she was fully awake, sending her on her way with my husband to the hospital.  Four hours later, we found out that it was as was suspected.  Broken.

Later the story eeked out in bits and pieces.  She was bumped into by a younger child and used her hand to catch herself and cushion her fall.  Not know for her grace and dexterity, in hindsight the choice to roller skate seems less and less of a good idea.

Unfortunately it was also her right wrist/arm and she is right handed.  This makes things, like completing her online high school course work, much more difficult.  She is also my right hand girl - helping with chores and household responsibilities.  Though she does no single chore by herself, the segment she does do - often involve using her hands - washing dishes, folding laundry, bouncing biting babies. 

Simple things like showering and getting dressed are also challenging.  Apparently when you are 14 the last thing you want is your mother helping you bathe.  Seriously.  It is right underneath being seen in your underwear in public.  Pointing out that you bathed this child on a regular basis until she was 8 years old makes no difference.  Her tight fitted shirts have no room for casts either, but we solved this problem by making some fleece ponchos out of some lap blankets.  She can put on a tank top underneath, and it is almost like wearing a snuggie, but more cuddly and permissible in public.

She is making the best of things, semi smug about the lack of chores and increased reading time combined with irritation about the itchiness (it is going to be a long long long 6 weeks) and general inability to do anything.  Just think what a wonderful Christmas present getting the cast off will make!  To make it seem less far away, the weather has even obliged her with some snow on the ground....

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...."

get the picture

The iPhone 4S  is the best tech thing ever in my life....and this is why

I love pictures. I love looking at pictures and examining the artistic composition.  I love taking pictures, and finding that perfect shot. The moments I see behind the lens are breath taking, and I capture them so that they will always leave me breathless. That, and it is the only way to "keep" the children little. When I hold Smash it seems like it was just last week that it was Songbird's baby fine curls and milky breath that captured my heart and refused to let go.  Songbird will be older than I am now when Smash graduates high school.  Pictures will help show how much she adored him when neither one remember.

Being the mommy, especially the stay at home mommy, I am the one who takes the pictures, not stars in them.  When the kids were little, they were too little to take pictures.  When they were older, they decided that they would rather let me take the shots, something about me being particular; and when I was hit with the combination of my metabolism grinding to a screeching halt along with being pregnant three times in a four year span, I was more than happy to keep hidden behind the camera.

With the arrival of Smash I began to realize something.  Aside from the fact that I needed to spend more moments without the camera and actually living in the moment, there were very few moments with me in them.  If something happened to me, would they remember me?  Would they remember how I loved them so much I swear my heart would burst? Would they remember my kisses on their cheeks, and holding them tight?  What would they remember about me?  And as I looked through the pictures, I realized they wouldn't have much to remember how I looked.  I may not like how I look, but they look at me day and night and love me.  Starlet informed me that I was "the most beautiful mommy in the world" today, and insisted that we carve a pumpkin with my face on it.

So I have started being in the picture, double chins, goofy grin and all.  Unfortunately I am still usually the only around who is old enough to take a picture, which leads me to having a new found love affair with my phone.  The flip camera allows some startlingly close, but inclusive pictures with my kidlets.  Pictures of us smiling genuine smiles and being silly.

Pictures of them nuzzled sleepily against me.  Pictures of Smash, so small and sweet, being nursed, worn in carriers, and laughing in his sleep in my arms.

I may never learn to leave the camera behind while the kids play in the sunbeams, swing on the swings, and jump in the leaf piles. I highly doubt the camera veiw of myself is going to be something that doesn't cause me to cringe (or I confess cry) while I still have young children that need carried, corraled and kissed. But for right now, in this time, the two things are combined - and for that I am gratful.

Right now, at this very minute, my floor lacks a decisive path through the room.  This lack of path aspect continues all the way into the hallway, and I am fairly certain that it also goes through the rest of the house.  McCauly Caulkin wishes he could set up hazards of this calibur.  Now that it is cooler, the stairs to the playroom/school room/ library no longer contain both a skate board and a set of rollar skates, I think, but I make no promises. 

My house did not look like this all day.  It didn't even look like this an hour ago.  Part of the strategic implentation of the secret attack plan by the squadron is rotation and randomization.  Just when you think you can find a way safely across - yowzers - dinosaur spike to the bottom of the foot. Go to catch yourself and whoosh you slide on a discarded drawing.  Desperate flailing as you go down just rewards you with something precariuosly balanced, and full, pouring down in a storm upon you.  There you sit, wet, stuck - possibly even permanently affixed on the floor, with an impaled foot, twisted ankle, and thrown out hip - completely at the mercy of the small yet mighty forces that begin to surround you.  It is at this point that serious concern begins to form in your mind.  It is also at this point that Starlet will insist she has the medical knowledge needed to examine you and make an accurate prognosses, as well as provide treatment.  Songbird will start laughing at you hysterically, but the sound of her laugh is so awesome that it makes you laugh too.  Smash, though hesitant initially from the cacophony, will flash his break a thousand hearts smile, and give you a drooly kiss on the lips.  You will begin to feel at peace, and the sheer joy from being with the children will fill your heart.  Stomp it out.  This is part of their plan.  Notice how Sunshine and Snickers are missing?  That is because they are together in the bedroom war room playing planning the next attack.

Others may question the mess, thinking that I need to cut down on the toys, and organize, organize, organize.  This is not the right answer.  I routinely get rid of toys, only to buy them again a year later when I realize how much  I the kids missed playing with them.  Sterilite sends me thank you notes each year for how many containers I buy.  I even label them.  What happens is that though I have a squadron, I am not a master sargent, captain, general, or anything else that denotes authority just in the name.  I am easily convinced to read a storey, or two, or more, to a little cuddly cutie pie; or play a game with the teen and tween, instead of enforcing the chore expectation.

Besides, at least one room in the house is clean, close to company clean, several times through the day.  There is just no evidence of it, and no eye witnesses.

Book worm

I had some free time to spend today while running errands and decided to stop by the library that I adore.  Yes, it has a much smaller selection.  Yes, it is much farther from our house, and relatively inconvenient most of the time. Yes, their online web page is virtually impossible to accomplish anything on, and since I manage our library experiences primarily by checking things out online, this is a huge impairment.  That being said, I love going there.  It is the type of library that is inviting - full of warmth and light, with shelves that don't cause vertigo or claustrophobia.  I could easily spend an afternoon there with the children, an experience that would could only be improved if they provided patchwork quilts and hot cocoa.

Anyways, Smash was my only companion - which was great.  One munchkin at the library is an adventure, an experience, a treasured memory.  When Songbird was little I used to cut class and pick her up from the day care early so that we could nestle together in the children's section and spend the afternoon exploring the pages of well loved books.  When Sunshine was added to the picture, Songbird was old enough to play on the computers, and we set to reading the entire children's picture book selection, starting with the letter Z and working backwards.  Add in Starlet and Snickers, and suddenly there are children crawling through the bottom shelves into the other isles, rambunctious bouts of hide and seek, book towers built and then demolished, tug of war over head phones at computer stations, and quite a bit of squealing.  With the addition of Smash, we reach a sum of five children...Five creative and curious children with a healthy dose of enthusiasm and exuberance.  I am quite certain that they have contributed to the demise or removal of the library pets.  Especially in the most recent case where not only were they tapping the glass, they were also testing the water temperature for the fish.  So the trip to the library is still an adventure and experience, but not always the treasured memory that I would like.

Smash acted as Smash does, experiencing and exclaiming about the various elements and nuances that contribute to the endearing atmosphere.  Then we got in line to check out.  It was at this point that Smash folds himself in half over my arm, grabs a board book I had selected, yanks it from my hands and starts chewing voraciously.  With sound effects that would impress Cookie Monster. I admonished him not to chew the book, and the juggling in my arms to pry the book from his teeth allowed him to get the movie case.  This provided even more chewing satisfaction as that it allowed him to pull his head back with the case in his mouth, making a delightful "thwacking" sound.  It quickly became apparent that not only was this not the approved purpose of the case, nor was it sanitary, he was also leaving imprints of his teeth in the plastic. 

Lacking anything else, I handed him his library card.  This became a suitable distraction only once the opposite end was placed in my mouth and a game of tug of war started.  This whole time he is making various biting, gnawing, and chewing  sounds that sound like a cross between the beloved snack eating monster and a tyrannosaurus rex.  The librarians and patrons surrounding me glanced at me with looks of shocked alarm and disapproval.  I was powerless to do anything else however.  Smash missed his usual naps today and the temper tantrum that would ensue was not something I was mentally or physically prepared to deal with.  And besides, it was his library card.  So I playfully tugged and shook my head with the card between my teeth.  At one point he decided that he was tired of loosing and bit my nose.  Finally, after over 11 minutes in line, and seven with a library card in my mouth, it was our turn to check out.  I red faced apologized to the clerk, and quickly doused the card in hand sanitizer, drying it with a kleenex. 

This left Smash with nothing to chew, but it would be okay.  Oh no, it wouldn't.  He promptly seized my glasses and began gnawing on the lenses and legs.  You could hear the grinding and scraping across the plastic coating of the lens.  Holding the virtually frothing child slightly away, I requested very very quietly, if I could please have the library card back. 

I should note that Smash has literally two plastic shoe boxes of teething toys that he has never wanted anything to do with.  Nor has he demonstrated a need to gnaw, chew, tear, or imitate a certain blue animated alien as of late.  I was not being remiss in my parenting duties by not having something more suitable on me. He just suddenly, without warning, morphed into a ball of teething terror.  When I strapped him into his car seat, still slightly nervous and counting my fingers, he morphed back to the beautiful boy baby he normally is.

I will check my genealogy again, but I don't remember there being any canines.  Or Jim Henson muppets.  Or Disney aliens. 

I did, in a braver moment, check him mouth.  Sure enough there are two molars, one on each side, trying desperately to get through his gums.  He really doesn't like his teethers, or teething gel to help with the pain, and tries to console himself by gnawing on ME.  Given recent behavior, I am seriously considering getting a rawhide bone.

A bite of my cookie

This blog is my blog.  It is my mommy space that I get to have to share about how things are going behind the scenes homeschooling four children with a tyrannical toddler in tow.  It is the place where I can share funny anecdotes, rant about various subjects, and admit freely that I lie to my kids about movie due dates when we rent them so I don't have to listen to the same movie on a non stop loop.

In case it is early morning, late night, or you haven't had the right amount of coffee in your blood to function yet, the number of children that are practicing diplomacy and hostile take over tactics alternating equals five.  Three girls, two boys, ages ranging from 14 to 1.  If you ever thought that having teenagers and toddlers at the same time sounded like a good way to keep entertained...you would be right.  But only if your entertainment tastes run along the same lines as extreme sports.  You sky jumped over the desert - I nursed a baby velociraptor while simultaneously teaching Algebra, listening to Ramona be read out loud, and tracing alphabet letters in multi colored salt.

I often feel like I am an anomaly in the mothering world.  I am a crunchy momma, well almost.  Sometimes.  I would really really like to be, and I try real hard. I baby wear, co-sleep, use cloth diapers on occasion (when they are clean and I remember where they are and don't have any place to go where bodily fluids are not part of the accepted attire), practice "extended breastfeeding" and home school. I stare longingly at the organic products in the grocery isles, or even the wholesome middle of the road whole grain ones, but always end up buying the generic cheap orange death in a box and the nitrate laden hot dogs because my kids eat them and I live on a budget that laughs at me. Oh how I would like to be able to boast how my children drink the mysterious "green drink" and have it not be kool - aid.  I would love to be able to swap tales of how my children spent all day playing peacefully with nut shells and pine needles instead of alternating between watching tv and reenacting an alarmingly realistic version of Lord of the Flies. I would also really like to be tall, thin, and in my early twenties again, but then I remember that heels hurt my feet and wearing them puts my life in jeopardy with small children running about. Going to the gym takes time, money, and more energy than I have had in the past four years put together. I also spent a lot of my early twenties flat broke without a car. Hmm, maybe I don't want to go back quite that far. So I may be a granola bar, but I am the kind that has chocolate chips, icing, and possibly, depending on the day, sprinkles.