Translation, please

The new big thing at our house: the Pokemon show. I know it's been around a long time, but the three just discovered it. Initially, they were familiar with only one character: We have had a pair of like-new, hand-me-down Pikachu slippers since forever. No one has ever really worn them, save an occasional stomp down the hall when they are discovered in the back of the closet. They were on my list of things to find and donate before the big move to the frozen tundra. Not because I thought they wouldn't be useful, but they fell into the "had it and not used it for six months" arbitrary rule I established for decluttering for this move.

And then, they started watching the Pokemon cartoon. Every evening, 2 minutes before the show starts, Bubba, Stump, and Samantha start running around yelling "Where is my Pokemon!!??!!" Tears ensue if the pair of slippers can't be found and then I have to start running around looking too. When both are found, the boys sit in front of the tv, clutching their slippers and watching rapturously for the duration. Sometimes Samantha wants to hold one of the slippers, but she can usually be pacified with something pink.

I hear no talking while the show is on. But after it's over, they start chattering and reenacting their favorite parts. They all like Pikachu best, but to hear them tell it, there are three characters:

Bubba: Pikachu

Stump: Chikapu

Samantha: Pizza-you



Posted by The Editor.

Harold and the Purple Crayon

Or, Samantha and the purple dry-erase marker...Are you familiar with Harold? He draws his story with his crayon as he goes...



So...I am here in TX, with my three. We just made it through a week of illness, one with pneumonia, all with high fevers and me trying to get the house ready for market so we can move to North Dakota to reunite with Dad come June.

Yesterday, Samantha was working hard on her dry erase book at the kitchen table for the better part of an hour while I cleaned the kitchen. I was called off to assist Bubba or Stump and then she:

scribbled the table cloth
scribbled her chair cushion
scribbled the cabinets
scribbled the shutters and walked across the living room to the hall and
scribbled a line that followed the chair rail molding (convenient height) all the way down the hallway into the family room to the entertainment center and finished with a beautiful abstract scribble conglomerate that covered the open cabinet doors by the tv

It was a three-room and a long hallway purple scribble-o-rama.

All of this was accomplished in less time than it took me to type it

My apologies for lack of pictures. I grabbed the cleaning cloth and started wiping because the real estate people were coming today! And unless you closely inspect the chair rail, I think all the evidence is gone...

Posted by The Editor.

Who's Sleeping Everywhere?

I read (with fascination) one time that in order for lawyers to memorize all the things they need to know for the bar exam, they build knowledge houses in their heads. The way I understand it, they visualize a room and attach facts to all the objects. Then, when they need to retrieve it, they mentally walk into that room to that object, and there it is! I don't know if they all use this method but it gave me an idea.

Updated to add: After some Google research, I found this is called "The Method of Loci" aka The Memory Palace.


One night at bedtime, instead of a story, we started this pillow game: Who's sleeping everywhere? It wasn't originally called that, the name just evolved. The idea was to verbally walk through the house and see who was where. We used our house and the boys' favorite characters. It started small and has grown into a predictable pattern. Both Bubba and Stump can name all of them when I prompt with the location. So, for posterity, here we go:

Who's in the closet? R2D2
Who's in the shower? C3PO
Who's in the tub? R14 (what Stump calls one of the other Star Wars androids)
Who's in the hall? R5D4
Who's in the vent? Shimmer and Bounce (from Miss Spider's Sunny Patch)
Who's in the ceiling fan? Astro Boy's robot mosquitos
Who's in the other vent? Mr. & Mrs. Spider
Who's in the pool? Ponyo and Quack
Who's in the chair by the pool? Chewbacca
Who's patrolling the yard? Johnny5
Who's in the tree? Daphne, Curious George, and Chirp
Who's on the front porch? The Backyardigans
Who's at the kitchen door? The Little Einsteins
Who's in the van? The Wiggles
Who's on the roof? Wall-e, Eve, beautician-bot, painter-bot, gopher, punching-bot
Who's in the tv room? Freddy and Caillou
Who's in the computer room? Kipper
Who's in mommy's room? Velma
Who's in the kitchen? Shaggy, having a snack
Who's under the kitchen table? Scooby-doo
Who's under the train table? I don't know
Who's in Samantha's room? Just Samantha
Who's in Bubba's room? Astro boy
Who's in the closet under the stairs? Peep


If a 5-year-old can retrieve this amount of information, I think, as a method, it is a success. Stump has started adding information, like, listing all the foods that Freddy and Caillou might be eating in the tv room, but I'll save that silly list for another day.

Posted by The Editor.

The (formerly) Silent One

My middle child, Stump, didn't talk much when he was two. He made noises and gestured, and indicated. But the talking...not so much. Gigi evaluated him when she came to visit and decided that, even though he wasn't saying words, he was comprehending them. Maybe it was the binky? Maybe it was the new baby? He could communicate clearly enough so we could meet his needs but there were no discussions with him. My eldest was discussing electronics and robots and construction vehicles at that age, among other things. Stump just called everything Buh! for awhile, then on to other sounds and words. Fast forward to age 5, and now he is telling me things, talking to me, having discussions.

I am finally hearing the things that have been locked inside that curly blond head. I have been waiting for this and love to hear him tell me things like, "I dreamed about stars last night," or "Those tall buildings are skyscrapers, mama," or "I want to be hug-ded me so I can fall asleep," and, whispering to the cat just before falling asleep, "You darling kitten, you shall have some pie."






Posted by The Editor.

Sonic Pirates, the saga continues...

The latest bedtime story installment for two little boys, one with chocolate eyes and cinnamon hair and the other with blue eyes and blond curls... See here for previous chapters, as well as explanations for the members of the dread crew.

It was a cold, gray, cloudy day in the month of April. The ocean mirrored the sky and the air was still. No wind to fill the sails or make waves. The two pirate ships, captained each by a Captain Brown-Beard-Peg-Leg was drifting at the very edge of Ocean Number Two.

Suddenly, the lookout, Captain Skelty yelled, "Arrgh! Ahoy! Seaweed, dead ahead!" The pirates scrambled but it was too late to change course and both ships sailed straight into the giant bed of muck.

The seaweed on the surface was almost invisible, matching the color of the ocean and sky. And if you know anything about seaweed, if you see a little bit on the surface of the water, there will be vast rope-like streamers hanging way down into the depths. Under the water, however, the seaweed was purple, and green, and black with sparkling gold diamond sparkling shimmers, because it was magic seaweed.

This particular bed of seaweed marked a lair of the Sea Witch, who sometimes lived in a cave on the bottom of the edge of Ocean Number Two. She had been waiting for this day--for both pirate ships to sail into her trap. She had prepared by attaching bells to the ropes of seaweed outside her cave and by putting a spell on the seaweed to ensnare the pirates. When the bells started ringing, she cackled with glee. The seaweed started growing (because of the spell) and wound around the bottoms of the two ships, their rudders, up the sides and over the decks. It climbed up the masts and wound around each pirate in its path, first one leg and then the other leg (unless it was a peg leg and then it wound around the wooden leg), around one and then the other arm, the head, the face, eyepatch and mouth of each pirate. They were stuck! What would they do?!

The spell of the Sea Witch, however, only covered the ships and the pirates she knew: 7 Captain Crackerishes, 2 Captain Brown-Beard-Peg-Legs, an astro-tot, 2 Captain Skeltys (the skeleton pirate who was electricified), Frye the pirate pet ferret and Limey, the pirate parrot, and an alien pirate. What she didn't know when she cast the spell was that two new members had joined the crew: a squid and a starfish, so the seaweed did not wrap around them at all because they were not included in the spell.

Captain Skelty yelled (as the seaweed was blocking his mouth):
"SQUMMM! STARFFFD! WRMM IFF UUGGH, AARGGFFHH!"
(Translation: SQUID! STARFISH! WRAP IT UP, AARGH!)

So Squid and Starfish used all their arms/legs to wrap up the seaweed into a ball, superfast, quick as a flash, lickety-split and throw it overboard. Once Captain Skelty's mouth was cleared, he yelled, "AARGH! over you go too, and PUSH!!" So Squid and Starfish jumped into the bed of seaweed, that had no effect on them, and started pushing the boats out of the seaweed as fast as they could. A strong wind blew across the water and lifted the sails and they zoomed away.

Down below, while the seaweed wrapping was going on, the bells by the Sea Witch's cave were ringing like crazy. And then they stopped. The Sea Witch came out of the cave and shook the bells to make sure they still worked, and they did. She then turned on her jet air packs and shot straight to the surface and popped out of the water just as the pirate ships were sailing out of view. The Sea Witch yelled, "Ohhh, meeee, I have lost! Again!" and dove down to her cave to hide for six days.

Meanwhile on the pirate ships, there was much singing and dancing, "Ahoy, Aaargh! We got away from that old Sea Witch. Now let's have some soup! Aaargh!" So the pirates were served soup from the new soup machine delivered by the lego mars mission crystal leaper crew. Each pirate ate three bowls of soup, burped three times and then ate three more bowls, each. Then they went to their bunks to sack out and dream of another day when they could defeat the Sea Witch for good.

THE END.

Posted by The Editor.

The People on Your Street

We moved to our olive-colored house during my last month of first grade and we didn't move from there until the year before I graduated college. Some of the neighbors were there before we came and may be there still. We invented fanciful names for all of them and sometimes exaggerated stories. You have already heard of Paty, who lived right next door on the corner. We were the second house on the right, with a big pine tree in the front yard. Third house, on our other side, was a family of four, and the dad drove a Mercedes, which was a big deal on our street. We called them (secretly), the dad: MercED, the mom, MerceLINDA, the elder son, MercErry, and the baby, MercASON. The dog was MercIGGSY. You may have realized by now, we made up our own fun, a lot.

The other side of the street on the corner were two brothers who always wore diapers with cowboy boots (when they were toddlers!!). Straight across was a newspaper editor and his wife, he would come home and have a beer and pretzels and share with us, the pretzels, I mean, not the beer.

Next to the newspaper man, a sea captain and his wife moved in and put in a pool (also a big deal on the street). We tried to make friends so we would get invited to swim, but somehow, she never wanted two pestery little girls in her backyard, so we called her Mary and did endless imitations of her squatting to water the lawn (why they put in a pool and not sprinklers, I don't know)...the funny part was imitating the cigarette she was always holding (no smokers in our family, it was taboo and therefore instantly funny) and her gravelly voice when she would yell at her dog, Skipper, when he would try to run out of the yard, "Skaaaaypaaaah!"

Next to her was Uncle Sam, who was nice and always brought us fresh plums from his tree in season. Just like we would share our bountiful harvest of oranges every year from the tree in the backyard. Uncle Sam had several high school age children, one son, Chris, who I thought was my true love and caused much embarrassment for me on several occasions.

Further down the street, it gets a little murky, because we weren't allowed to play out of Gigi's eyesight or range of her voice. There were a few other people, Merona and her sister on our side, four houses from the other end, and Karen across from them, who went to school with Paty.

We also had a lady mailcarrier for awhile, which was foreign to us, all our childhood books clearly showed that was a man's job(!) So, we were convinced she was an infiltrator, especially when she parked her mail jeep in front of Paty's house and she got out and sat in Paty's yard with a brown paper bag and cracked something on a tree trunk in code (later inspection after she left showed it was just hard-boiled eggs for lunch).

Such was our childhood cast of characters.

Then, Busy Body reminded me that:

I forgot Jimmy the milkman, Richard who stepped on my kite (the one I got as a reward for reading at school, blue, with a green gingham tail), in the houses behind ours: Brian R. and Becky M. (who was Mormon and couldn't have caffeine), Terry who ate dog food on a dare, Kelly G. who was wild and nasty (according to Paty) and therefore forbidden as a friend, the perfect Cathy O. (seriously, she always looked like a barbie or a mouseketeer), and of course, Jo and Danny--the developmentally-challenged girl and the bully whose dad was meaner than a junkyard dog...OK, maybe not, we never really met him, but his front yard looked like a junkyard. There was also that little kid who lived at the end of our street (between Paty's and Trevor's) whose grandpa (the neighborhood molestor) sat in his pickup truck all day long. And that little boy, Mony, who moved in next door to Jo and Danny--which I bet gave them the shock of their lives!

Remember Mary and her daughter Sandy were going to take Jo in and "fix" her and then Danny threw his skateboard at Sandy's car and there was almost a riot on the street because the Junkyard Dog-dad had to come over to talk to Mary about it? Also, don't forget when two sets of step-brothers and sisters moved in next door, peeping tom-ed into busy-body's window every night while blaring music to profess the eldest brother's love for her, and then the eldest sister stole half of our lemonade stand money when she just sat in the lemonade stand all day and contributed nothing.

Did anyone else grow up in such a colorful neighborhood? Or did we just have overactive imaginations?

Posted by The Editor.

Dinner Conversation

When you send your children to school, you think of all the fun, good times, and great lessons they will learn. You may or may not think about the other potentially undesirable stuff, for instance, the potty talk. For the kindergarten/preschool set, apparently it is just funny to refer to it, mention it, sign it, act it, or otherwise immerse yourself in anything related to potty activities and repeat it over and over and over again. Often at dinner I have to remind them it is not appropriate dinner conversation. If they can't control themselves and continue to potty talk, I send them to the bathroom (not together--separate bathrooms-- luckily we have more than one) and I tell them to stay in there and talk potty talk to themselves until they are done and then they may return to the table. So far, that works pretty well to stop it.

At bedtime, when I am putting Samantha to bed, I put the boys in their room and start a CD for a chapter book. We are currently listening to Little House on the Prairie, partly because we are moving to the prairie in June, but also because I grew up loving the Little House books and want them to love them, too. So far, they like the stories really well and we've listened to the book three times over.

While driving to school last week, Bubba asked what a papoose was. Knowing they had listened to the chapter about the Indians, I explained it was an Indian baby that was strapped in a baby carrier and worn on the Indian mommy's back while she did her work, but during the whole explanation, Bubba and Stump were giggling. Not being able to turn around while driving, I thought they were poking each other or something. At bedtime that night, Samantha fell promptly asleep, so I was able to join the boys for part of their story. It was the Indian chapter again. When Laura sees the papoose and wants to keep him, the boys start giggling again and whispering "papoose" to each other. I realize they are finding potty talk in the Little House books: paPOOse, paPOOse, paPOOOOOOse! So far, I am onto these sneaky guys...but for how long?

Posted by The Editor.

Remembering Ike

I live in Texas, north of Houston, but I am not from Texas. I grew up in Southern California but I wasn't born there. When this school year is over late June, I will move to North Dakota and officially become a gypsy.

I have decided this move I need to travel lightly. The last two moves, I was expecting a baby and had no energy to dispense of some of the accumulated clutter. Someone told me they thought people should move every five years in order to minimize their belongings. I have moved more often than that (8x in 13 years) and have carried too much along each time.

Who else would care to look at the birthday cards I got at my birthday party when I turned eight years old? Is it really necessary to keep all the packaging when the original item is long gone, just to be able to look at the pictures on the box? I really don't want to wade through these boxes of belongings again, but if I don't, who else would? It's tiring and emotionally draining because I can remember so much when I hold these things in my hand.

Every move should be another beginning, an opportunity to refine our collection of stuff, a chance to learn more and experience new things. I don't want to be stuck sifting through the boxes of ephemera while everyone else is out there living. Trying to decide what will stay and what will go is difficult because it's a ranking of sorts. Is this cookbook more important than that pair of shoes or these dishes we never use? Granted, I could take it all, but it's getting too heavy to carry. I don't feel like I belong anywhere because I'm dragging with me all these pieces of my life and home in other places.

I won't miss hurricane season when we leave Texas for North Dakota. We hunkered down or sheltered-in-place in our house for Hurricane Ike. We were fortunate to only lose some trees and a rain gutter and section of fence. I am thinking, "What if Hurricane Ike had taken all of this away? What would I have wished I could keep? What would be long forgotten?"

This is a tremendous task in front of me. The Italian (my husband) is already off in North Dakota working and I am here, readying the house for sale, caring for my tribe of three, and sorting, sifting, and curating the stuff. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated...

Posted by The Editor.

Armpits, the windows to your body, or something like that

I have a confession. I haven't used deodorant in over two years. Why, you might wonder, or maybe you are clicking away right now...? Or maybe you can't click away now, so read on... Actually, after Samantha was born, I got on a natural kick to eliminate chemicals from our house. Have you ever tried to do this? Some Google internet research indicated personal care products are some of the worst offenders to our endocrine systems. I worry, a lot. About my health, my husband's health, my children's health and all the toxins and contamination in our food sources. So usually, I just do the best I can--buy organic when it's available, minimize junk food, take vitamins, and exercise and rest.

But, about two years ago, I eliminated shampoo and deodorant. Have you heard of no-poo? Check out this popular post. It worked well, I just haven't converted the rest of the house, yet.

As for the deo, I cringe when I think of the years and years and gobs and gobs of the commercial stuff applied usually on freshly-shaved armpits. Busy Body and I were both on spirit squads in high school and one of the many mortifying things that could happen to us in our sweater uniforms was to stink like B.O. So we kept our lady speed stick baby powder scented deodorant: in the glove compartment and slathered away at will...there is aluminum in it, you know. And, they say, aluminum has been linked to Alzheimer's and I really don't want to go there, ever.

So, I switched to something else, applied sparingly, and never after shaving.
It is (embarrassingly) called "Stinky No More" and is available here. It works pretty good, even in the worst of the Southeast Texas summers with high humidity. Interestingly enough, it works better when I don't consume too much sugar. On weeks where I drink a lot of sugary sodas or eat lots of desserts, it doesn't work so good (translation: big stink). But, your underarm glands are there for a reason--to eliminate things your body doesn't need. So, it really isn't a bad thing after all, just a signal to me to curtail the sugar and then I smell sweet again. And now, you've probably read more than you ever care to about my 'pits, but if you're still reading, give your own 'pits some thought, if you haven't already.

Posted by The Editor.

A late postscript: Which 7 cities have the worst B.O.? Find out here.

Defining a movement

Busy Body first spied "What you do matters" a video by Katherine Center when Rachel posted it on her blog, A Southern Fairytale. I also viewed it there after Rachel responded to Busy Body's comment and the notification was sent to our Dialing Home mailbox--I followed the linkback. Then, tonight, while clicking "Next Blog-->" to see what I could find, I came across a book review by Shannon for everyone is beautiful at Going Crunchy written by, guess who, Katherine Center. Does this connectivity thrill you or spook you? You can check out Katherine on her website. But for your viewing pleasure (and Dialing Home's first YouTube video), here you go...enjoy!




Posted by The Editor.

Lila and Merona

In honor of the month of February, I want to share a tongue twister:

Lila's love laughs loudly.

Once, when we were young, we had a teddy bear tea party at our house and invited the kids from the street. One little girl, whom we called Merona (not her real name--a twist on Ramona of Beverly Cleary fame) attended and she was the source of much merriment with this tongue twister.

The game for the tea party was to sit in a circle and, when it was your turn, hold the microphone and say "Lila's love laughs loudly" three times in a row. When it was Merona's turn, she took the mike and said, "Lila's love laughs" and we all said, "loudly." So, she did it again with more volume, "Lila's Love Laughs" and we all said, "loudly." So, she did it again, but yelling this time "LILA'S LOVE LAUGHS!!"

Game over, we all laughed so hard.

Posted by The Editor.

Hover craft and other tedium...

Busy Body and I used to have very exciting lives before we had children. She worked in CSI and I was an engineer in technology development. Don't ask me what I did, it was top-secret, classified, super-important stuff. Busy Body's work also required a lot of decorum and discretion to carry out the investigations and send those bad guys to jail. To counteract the tedium and up-tightedness we had to put up with every day, we used to email each other all the time on a variety of subjects. One stretch was a series of quizzes based on childhood memories. My favorite one was: how many doors were in the house where we grew up? I won that one (actually, it wasn't a contest, but I remembered them all and wanted some credit for retaining that useless information because Busy Body usually corners the market on it). Busy Body has the results of that somewhere...she used to print out the emails and delete them so it wouldn't take up important space on her computer at work. It sounds silly now, but it used to make laugh and laugh in my dilbert cubicle. Silly in the same way describing some of the things I do now would seem--for instance, Bubba is obsessed with a lot of electro-mechanical devices, usually robots, but this month, it happens to be hover-craft. He has recruited no less than three grown-ups to help him build one.

The first recruit is the neighbor boy who comes to vacuum the pool once a week...he will be starting college to study engineering next year and he couldn't resist helping Bubba for the better part of two hours with the leaf-blower, a pool ring, a pool raft, a small dump truck, and a toy car. They considered their experiments a success, although it wasn't strong enough to ride on, which is what I think Bubba's ultimate goal is.

The second recruit was dad, who was home for a couple of days, and they took two paper plates, cut four small, same-size holes in one, and one the diameter of the hair dryer nozzle in the other plate and then taped them together with a short "skirt" made from a plastic grocery bag. This worked, but it was also small-scale.

I was the third recruit and have failed miserably. We went to a science birthday party (how timely!) where there was a hover board powered by a large motor that all the kids got to sit on and ride. After riding it, Bubba examined it and said, "Mom, you could make this!" Maybe someday, but in the meantime while he is waiting for me to deliver, he has designed a pretend hovercraft big enough for him and Stump and Samantha to journey upon and I have been demoted from inventor to videographer/photographer. The hover craft is a small toddler bed mattress, with an office chair back turned so the armrests form rails, onto that, a small cat scratching post is set with a small fan hooked over the top and a box fan behind it. Bubba stands by the post to manipulate the fans. He says he is the "spirit." Stump is proclaimed the captain and sits in the front. Samantha is the princess passenger and sits securely, sideways, in the middle. Spirit starts the fans and off they go, warding off fish attacks and marveling at the wildlife and scenery.

Here is the magical transport...so much more exciting than a cubicle, yes?

Posted by The Editor.

From the archives

He was my only child. Sitting small in his chair at the end of the dining room table, not even two years old. We communicated well through a series of special hand signs, sounds, and partial words. He had all my attention most days and things went pretty smoothly. Except this day. Maybe he was asserting himself using his growing independence, maybe I was tired with the new baby growing in my belly. Whatever it was, I was short with him when he was wanting yet something else for lunch. "Just sit there and wait!" I snapped. Sweet boy, he didn't get upset, he sat back in the chair, thought for a minute and raised his little hand and waved, like he was in a parade.

Posted by The Editor.

The Wink

Do you remember when you learned to wink?
Did someone teach you?

It's possible I learned how to do it when I was very young--the actual closing of one eye at a time. But I really learned when to wink and how to use a wink from my Grandpa, Gigi's father.

Just like Grandma, he was sassy and silly in his own way, strong and gentle, all at the same time. He could convey so much with that wink and accompanying twinkle in his eye. He had a hard life, lived through the depression, suffered heart problems and more. But all of those factors were irrelevant when he'd tell a good story and flash that twinkle and wink. You'd think he was living the high life, and I guess in a way, he was. Irrepressible spirit transcends all, if you let it.

I was the one who taught all my kids how to wink. And, I hope they see that spark of life sometimes in me. Life is not easy. We all toil with our own troubles, heartaches, and circumstances beyond our control. I do think, however, a bit of sass and laughter will help us see our way through.

I hope all you readers had a wonderful weekend. Ours did not quite go as planned...we had one with stomach flu, one with a fever, and one day that did not crack 40 deg F all day, followed by a day in the high 60's. But, we were all together. We laughed and played and smiled in the sun that has been missing for weeks.

What was the highlight of your weekend? Please leave a comment, we love to get them!

Posted by The Editor.

Weekend of Bliss

St. Valentine's Day is one of those days...if it's good, it's really good and if it's not, it's horrible. I, for one, do not like to get flowers or go out to dinner in celebration of the day. Flower prices are inflated and the restaurants are crowded. I suppose a girl should be grateful to get either one and I am in no way trying to be hurtful to those that don't even have an option. I like holidays, really, I do. Except I like them as special days, not commercialized checklists of what is required in order to have a perfect one. I want them simple, so I can be fully present and appreciate the beauty and love that surrounds me. So this weekend, wherever you are, I wish for you, one small moment of bliss. I invite you to come back Monday and share it in the comments section here.

I already have had mine:

Samantha was trying to fall asleep tonight after a long, busy, rainy day.
Tossing and turning she asked,
"Where is daddy?"
I answered, "Sleeping."

"Where is Bubba?"
"Sleeping, shhh."

"Where is Stump?"
"Sleeping, shhh."

"Where is the sun?"
"Sleeping."

"Where? In the van?"
"In the van?"

"No," she says, "in the clouds."
And with that precious, beautiful thought, she fell asleep.


Posted by The Editor.

The Arm

I was driving the kids home from school and the front seat was piled with jackets, scarves, gloves, papers, lunch pails, and the show-and-tell lollapalooza. Show-and-tell is Bubba's favorite part of school and he takes it very seriously. He often crafts special displays to lecture about...usually mechanical or robotic in nature. But, I digress. This post isn't about show-and-tell, nor is it about the large styrofoam box that was on top of the pile in the front passenger seat leaning against the dashboard making that irritating squeaky jiggle noise. "What's that? What's that noise?" all the kids start shouting from the back. "Just the box, I reply." And, I put my arm out across the front seat to hold it off the dashboard and thereby eliminate the squeaking. "See," I say, "The noise is all gone..." But the motion of my arm going out across the seat brought back a memory and that memory is the subject of this brief post.

I told my kids, "Look at my arm. See how it's across the front seat? When I was little, we didn't wear seatbelts and there were no carseats. Busy Body & I used to sit in the front seat next to Gigi as we drove around town or home from school. Whenever we would slow down or stop, Gigi would put her arm out like this to make sure we didn't slide forward and bump the dashboard. After the stop, she would put both hands back on the steering wheel until the next time her foot went to the brake and then that arm would come back across the seat. That was safety for us." And Bubba says, "That was a long time ago, right?" And it was. Those were the days of just jumping in the car and taking off, all the way through high school even. When I got my license, seat belts still weren't required and Busy Body and I used to cruise all around town, looking for fun, Busy Body hanging out her window and **GIGI, DO NOT READ THIS NEXT PART, SKIP TO THE END, THANK YOU** one time I even remember cruising through the main street at Knott's Berry Farm and Busy Body with the window rolled all the way down, sitting on the door, holding onto the edge of the roof. Me? I was being a safe driver, going slowly, keeping my eyes on the road and putting my arm out at all the stops.

Yeah, those were the days.

Posted by The Editor.

The Cloak of Doom Is Lifting

The last two weeks have been challenging...we endured a round of viral fever/cough followed by strep throat all around. Being a pseudo-single mom for the time being, it has been tough. You can't even ask the neighbor girls to come and help when everyone is sick. Only a mother could love the fevered, cranky, grouchy bunch of kids that have been in residence here lately. Still, we've managed and if we escape the stomach virus that is now going around, next week should almost be back to normal and daddy will be HOME!

The recent days have not been completely without laughter, thanks to Netflix on the computer. Bubba, Stump, and Samantha Jeanpocket all enjoy watching AstroBoy (and there are 20+ episodes for their amusement).

My amusement and delight is in their coaxing Samantha to come and watch with them. She speaks pretty well for a 2 1/2 year old, but does shorten words to single syllables sometimes.

The boys, bless their hearts, imitate her dialect to make her feel like she's one of them. They say, "Samantha, want to come and watch A$$Boy?" and Samantha replies, "Yes, watch A$$Boy!"

And I just laugh--not at them, I delight in their innocence and just wish it could last forever.

Posted by The Editor.

Commandeered

The writing of today's blog post has been postponed due to

1) an aquatic emergency caused by "the geyser that was formerly known as the faucet in the sink in the computer room"

2) a computer virus

3) two of three children taken ill with strep throat

Please leave a comment with your favorite excuse. We hope to resume regular posting tomorrow. Thank you for your understanding. For your reading pleasure, please revisit some old posts, here and here and here.

Posted by The Editor who is wet or angry or worried...

The First Parent-Teacher Conferences

I thought the first day of school was hard...and it was, for many reasons, but tomorrow is the day for the first parent-teacher conferences for Bubba and Stump. My stomach is in knots and I'm not sure why. They really haven't been in trouble, save the occasional time-out for forgetting the rules. They participate well and seem to enjoy their time spent there, for the most part.

I guess I'm just afraid that I will sit down with the teacher and expect to hear, "Bubba is a stellar student, we wish all of them could be like him." And, instead, they will say, "Bubba is a wicka-wacka spotted, three-horned monkey cow jelly roll who insists on speaking 'kualish'*-- a language he tells us he spoke on the planet Ronkria* where he lived in a ruffulia* rock cave and only ate miszelka* bread, because he sure won't eat any of the apple slices we serve here!" Not that it could really happen, but I might just be so nervous I will hear this no matter what is said...

Posted by The Editor.

ps. please wish me luck or say a prayer for me for grace and composure, no matter what...thanks!

*any similarity to actual languages, planets, rocks, or bread is purely an accident

What if...

A seven-year-old child gets medical attention after being pulled from the rubble of the Carib Market on Sunday.

Carlos Garcia Rawlins / Reuters

I had to tell my children today about Haiti. We don't watch the news in our house and, generally, they are uninformed about current events. BUT, they were fussing over toys and food and who would play what and when...typical squabbles amongst siblings who are 7, 5, and 2. But, what if this were my son in the picture above--five days buried in the rubble of the market? How would he fare? I was tired of the whining here and ashamed that they fuss over so much when so many have so little. I want them to be grateful, compassionate and caring wherever they are, with whatever they have. I don't want to raise them to feel entitled, because, really, the circumstances we are born into are beyond our control, there but for, and all that. So here is what I said and what I showed them:

This is a country called Haiti. They do not have a lot of money. They do not have a government that takes good care of its people. A lot of people that live there do not bother with following the rules and doing the right thing. When they built their buildings, they did not follow the rules to make strong buildings that could survive an earthquake. So, when they had an earthquake, almost everything was destroyed. It looks like this now--these are their shops and their homes:

Gregory Bull / AP

See all these people. How many are there? How many hands are reaching? They don't have any food and they are reaching out to get some. They have no homes anymore. They are sleeping in the streets. They are hungry and tired and scared.

Win Mcnamee / Getty Images

This is one of their stores where they used to buy their food. See what the earthquake did? Now they have nowhere to get food. And that boy (at the top of the post), he is seven years old, just like Bubba. He was in the market when it collapsed. He was just rescued today--five days later. Five days of waiting to be rescued, alone, scared, hungry and now he is injured and needs a doctor.

Carlos Garcia Rawlins / Reuters

If you think about fussing again about your toys or crackers or play, please remember these pictures and don't. Look around. See how much you have and be grateful. If you continue fussing, I will get some boxes and pack up some of your things and your food and send it to these people who really need it and would be grateful to have it.



Posted by The Editor

Note from The Editor: Dispositions improved greatly after the talk.
All photos from msnbc.msn.com, we don't own them, originals can be viewed here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34845446/ns/news-picture_stories/