Zivah Finds Her Voice

Util

Util (you'-tl) adj. 1. the epitomy of being useful and practical 2. describing one who greatly values the useful and practical things of life

It is a word that a friend of mine came up with. When I registered for a step stool for my wedding, she bought it for me, because, who else would register for a step stool but me?

Which brings me to squash.

I never used to like squash. Even though my mother swore it was 'just like candy,' I never could agree. Something about the texture of a chunk of squash just made me gag.

Fast forward twenty years. Enter butternut squash soup. I discovered a recipe that is easy, good, and in the process of pureeing, changes the texture. I also found out that winter squash is one of those vegetables that 'keeps,' meaning that if I store it in a cool place, it won't rot for months. How fantastic is that? AND (I am so proud of myself) I was able to puree some leftover squash, freeze it in ice cube trays, and fed Zivah her first bit of veggies today with a cube of it.

So I have put squash on my highly honored 'util' list along with onisies, step stools, and boots.

The Joy of Christmas

One of the days that I went shopping, I took Finley along with me, hoping that she could help me pick out some of the gifts we were giving that year. Of course, at the ripe old age of four, she didn't understand the concepts of budgeting or appropriateness, so I found myself saying repeatedly: 'That costs too much,' or '[So-and-so] wouldn't really want a [random item, like a curtain rod], Sweetie.'

She finally picked out a few items that were do-able. For Chris she found a little frog on a key chain that said 'ribbit' and shone an LED when you pressed a button. Of course, when we got home, she immediately tried to tell Chris what she got him, but I managed to quiet her in time. I let her wrap it, and made sure to let Chris know, lest he throw out what looked like a small wad of wrapping paper.

A few days later, when I wasn't around, she let the cat out of the bag. Apparently, she didn't realize she had ruined a surprise, as was evident Christmas morning.

This was (by far) my favorite moment of the holiday: Finley handing Chris his wad of a present, jumping up and down and laughing with the excitement of giving...

Z5

Zivah is just over 5 months old. At her doctors appointment a few weeks ago, she weighed in at 15 pounds. She doesn't laugh much yet, but smiles easily. She has gotten better at reaching out and taking a hold of things, including my hair and her left foot.

In order to keep her from waking me up several times a night, I've started feeding her rice cereal in the evenings. That's helped a bit, but I have to say that the stuff coming out her other end isn't as pleasant.

Here are a few of my favorite recent shots of the kids.

Decorating for Christmas

We don't have a Christmas tree in our house. We have a Christmas catctus. Well, we have two of them. One is the blooming sort (which I have messed up this year by leaving in the kitchen where the lights are on too much to put it into the blooming mood), and the other is our five foot cactus that spends its summers on the front porch.

The first year I decorated the cactus was the year before we were married. I strung white lights on it, draped it in red tinsel, and the only ornaments on it were red and white striped candy-canes. I cut out a cardboard star and spray it with metallic paint, and stuck it to the tallest 'branch' with a piece of wire. I loved it. It was simple. It was me.

Six years later, I have lost control. Gone are the classy white lights. Last year, my husband insisted on colored lights. Gone are the simple candy canes. Now the cactus is covered with countless hand-painted or hand-strung ornaments the kids have made. Some of them are downright ugly.

But, hey. I'm a mom, and letting my kids make a mess of our cactus is part of the joy of Christmas.

Letting Go

Sometimes you have to let go of something in order to free your hand up for what you really need.

I have attended the same church for the 10+ years I've been in Nashville. I've watched it grow from a group of about 100 meeting in what seemed like a cavernous gymnasium to another renovated gym where not every one can find a seat on a Sunday. Ten years ago, it wasn't hard to learn every one's names. Now, I don't know the names of 80% of the people there. I am what I would consider an extremely loyal sort, and don't like change a whole lot. That said, it was difficult for me to consider a change of venue after struggling for months to attend the church where we no longer were sure we belonged.

God had been talking to me about the importance of family and cultivating the relationships that were close at hand. A desire was brewing to find community closer to home. And God was also talking to me about not desire things of the past but turning my heart to the things meant for the current season.

I had visited the church that one of my brothers and his family had recently started attending, and finding that another of my good friends went there as well, we decided to give it a whirl as a family. The first miracle came when Joe just wandered into the nursery without a sign of anxiety. We found our seats next to my brother and his family, and as I sat in the service, the morning sunshine streamed through the high, arched windows of the former convent, one of my favorite hymns was strummed out on an acoustic guitar, and I was overwhelmed by peace.

Ice Cream

We have a serious ice cream habit at our house.
I think we buy about 3 cartons a week.

I used to get on Chris' case about the amount of ice cream we consume, and even suggested we cut back a bit.

Then I discovered Chocolate Almond Indulgence by Private Selections. (You can buy it at Kroger.) It contains chocolate covered almond bits in chocolate ice cream. Yum.

I haven't been suggesting the cutbacks anymore. Thankfully, we practice self-control and restrain ourselves by serving our ice cream up in small bowls, and eating it with smaller spoons, no more than once a day.

Judgement

I really like those courtroom shows like 'The People's Court' and 'Judy Judy'. Perhaps a little too much. There is something about judges having authority to tell people like it is and the people having to keep their mouths shut and listen. I have noticed, however, that rarely do you see someone walk out of the courtroom with a change of heart.

'Judge not, lest you be judged.'

I had a little insight into this the other day... Looking at the life of Jesus in the gospels, you do see him speak in judgement of someone a few times. I got to thinking about that, and it dawned on me that there were only certain circumstances in which he did.

First, he 'judges' those that were judging others. Most obvious are the self-righteous, religious teachers. Nearly every encounter with the Pharisees and Sadducees he ends up calling them something nasty as they try to point out some fault or another. He doesn't talk very nicely to them, either. He is a bit more gentle with people like Martha (Mary ought to be doing so and so), because he knows their hearts are open to his correction. This is more along the lines of 'speaking the truth with love'.

The only instance I can think of where Jesus just loses it and points the condemning finger, as it were, was in the temple when he knocks over the money changers tables. I guess he didn't have so much grace for those that purposefully take advantage of others.

A Near Tragedy

Tonight, Joe came into the kitchen while I was fixing supper, toting his 'benkie', an old hospital swaddling blanket made of the softest, smoothest flannel I have ever touched. I turned to the sink for a moment, then heard a wail:
"My benkie broking!"

He had tossed it into the air, and part of it had landed on the stove, burning two holes in it.
My heart nearly stopped at the thought of his favorite blanket nearly going up in flames. Having favorite blankets for every season of my life, I know the grief associated with the need to give one up. That is a grief I hope he won't need to face for quite a while yet.

After supper, I took it downstairs, cut out the charred areas, and patched the blanket with a couple pieces of (sadly, lesser quality) green flannel. When I handed the repaired blanket back to Joe, he was ecstatic.

Uncle Rob

Last Tuesday, Chris' Great Uncle Rob passed away. He was one month away from his 93rd birthday.

Chris' favorite story about Uncle Rob: After serving in the military, Rob developed a drinking habit. At one point, a doctor told him that if he didn't stop drinking, he would soon die, and even if he did stop, the damage he had done to himself had probably shortened his life expectancy considerably. Rob quit cold turkey. He kept an unopened bottle of liquor around that he put under the Christmas tree every year as a reminder. Apparently, he was healthy enough otherwise that the years of drinking didn't have too much of a negative effect.

Uncle Rob had a hobby of sculpting things out of styrofoam. Grandma's shelves are full of characters all carefully carved and hand-painted out of the delicate material. He had to give that up in his last years, however, as his hands and eyes quit cooperating.

I have to admit that I was a little worried about taking the young ones to a funeral. I remember too vividly at the age of five, being afraid of seeing my grandfather's white-robed, dead body propped up in the funeral home's window case. Instead of facing realityand telling my mother what I was afraid of, I just told her I didn't want to go in, and waited, curled up on the floorboard of the back seat of the car. Of course, I realize that I shouldn't project my fears onto my children, and it would be good for my kids to experience death as a part of life at an early age. It was a closed casket, so the kids didn't actually get to see Uncle Rob, but Chris explained that the coffin held his body and that we would bury it in the ground. Finley wanted to bring shovels.

The funeral was small, only family attending. As some opening music played, Finley lightened the mood by tooting loudly. Twice.

Z at 4 months

I couldn't help including this photo. It makes me laugh and laugh.

Smiling.

Her most frequent expression: Bug-eyed.

Exercise

"For my money nothing is more deadly in terms of boredom than exercise for the sake of exercise and I suspect strongly that those people who lift barbells and perform on gymnastic apparatus and do push-ups in the morning and evening, do so out of some narcissistic impulse which betrays itself in the fact that so many of these people work before mirrors and are mirror worshipers."
-Louis Bromfield
From My Experience: The Pleasures and Miseries of Life on a Farm

True, true. In a narcissistic effort to tone up my post-pregnant abs, I bought a pilates DVD and have a handful of times plopped down in front of the TV in a pitiful attempt at exercise.

The funny part to me is that my pre-pregnant stomach muscles did not come from exercising in front of a DVD. They came from climbing countless trees, shovelling, raking, mowing, toting boxes and tool bags, and living a generally active life.

Today, I bundled up the baby, and the kids and I went outside where I raked and shredded several piles of leaves, dragged the leaves on a tarp to the compost bin and hefted them inside. I exercised. I had fun. And I accomplished something at the same time. Amazing.

We are at that wonderful point in autumn when half the leaves have fallen from the trees and the ground and the branches both are bright with color.

As I was walking toward the compost bin the other day, I passed under our sugar maple, and suddenly I was surrounded in a golden haze.

Family and Community

There has been something I've been chewing on for a few weeks. Whenever I try to write about something specific, however, it explodes in my head into a thousand different things. Trying to follow one strain of thought is like a fly trying to walk across a spider web. Impossibly tangled.

Back when I was contemplating the creation of the universe, I listened to a teaching on Genesis 1 by Ray Mayhew. Ray taught at a church I attended back in Omaha. The few times I have had the opportunity to sit in on one of his classes, he revealed a depth to the Bible as only one who has studied the Bible intensely for decades could. One of the things he points out, that I suppose is rather obvious, though easy to miss, is the importance of the family in scripture. The Triune Godhead is an example of family. The creation of Adam and Eve and Eve as his helpmate brought about family. The endless genealogies scream family.

The whole of it is that our souls yearn to be knitted into families and have a sense of belonging to a greater community.

The reason I've been thinking about this lately, is that I have been feeling a bit disconnected. The advent of a baby changes the dynamic of life. In the struggle to maintain a basic level of survival in the immediate family, it is easy to lose touch with others. And the way society is shaped these days, it makes isolation even easier.

Most of us live fairly independent lives. We can easily survive on our own. All we need is a job and a grocery store nearby. Friends and family live miles away, and common activities are few. Because of this, it takes a concentrated effort to develop meaningful relationships with others. When a relationship becomes inconvenient or unnecessary, it is easy to let the relationship fade.

I have been struggling with the role of the technology in all of this. Internet sites like facebook and myspace promise connection to others. But at the end of the day, if I get sucked into the Internet, I end up ignoring my children or realizing that email is a poor substitute to spending time face to face with another human being. (That is why I have purposefully avoided facebook and remain on myspace only so that I can be my husband's top friend.)

A couple years ago, I was addicted to Beverly Lewis novels. Most of these centered on Amish life. I was struck by the interdependence (not co-dependence) of the Amish. Instead of trying to take on huge tasks, such as building a barn, on their own, the community comes together to help. Women get together for quilting and canning bees. Frequently, when a father turns over the farm to the younger generation, he and his wife will live in an annex of the family home, lending a hands where they can.


Lately, as I wish my mother lived a stone's throw away so that we could sit down for tea, or that I could dump the baby on her for an hour so that I could rake some leaves, I keep thinking about how nice it would be to be a part of a community where it wouldn't take so much effort to connect.

It [almost] rained on our parade.

I took the kids to the Veterans Day Parade in Nashville today. I happened to hear on the radio that they were closing down Broadway for the parade, so I decided last minute that we would go see it after story time at the library. I wondered if it would be hard to find a spot on the sidewalk clear enough for the kids to see, but unfortunately, we had plenty of room.

It was cloudy, chilly, and a bit sprinkley. I was worried it might start raining, as I had neglected to bring umbrellas. Thankfully, the rain held off until we were safely back in the van.

When a big police truck came by at the head of the parade and blasted the siren, the kids weren't so sure they were going to like the parade. But then came one of the military bands, and a Humvee drove by with some one throwing candy toward the onlookers. The candy landed in the middle of the street. When I told Finley she could go get some, she stood frozen on the curb. It took her a while to realize that that I was actually encouraging her to run out into the the street. When I led Joe out into the street, he was too enamored by the passing parade to think to pick any up.

A huge propellered airplane flew overhead. A large pack of vets rode by on their Harleys, pipes rumbling, U.S. and POW/MIA flags flowing.

I was a little confused by some of the parade. The parade organizers drove by in the heated comfort of their cars, a magnet on the car door letting us know who they were. The Shriners showed up in full force, along with clowns in funny vehicles. Some of their floats cranked ear-piercing music, and my children stood, hands clamped to their ears. I don't know if the Shriners were there because they were veterans, or if they just like to crash any parade they can. I guess just being a Shriner is being a sort of veteran...

After most of the Shriners passed, I decided it was time to head back. Zivah hung limp in the baby carrier, our regular lunch hour was passing by, and there was a long walk back to the van. Next year, we'll be a little more prepared.

Now Finley is wishing a parade would go down our street. Apparently she doesn't think she has enough candy.

Thanks to all of you that have served... especially Jeff and Shane who have served in this current conflict.

A Boy and His Football

In an interview with 60 Minutes, LT confessed that he slept with his football when he was a kid.

Fall Harvest and Death

My haphazard planting of some fall veggies has paid off.

As Finley was digging a big hole 'to step in,' she noticed that one of the radishes had 'grown'. I allowed her to pluck it from its nest of soil. It was much larger than I had anticipated.

This stirred a little excitement in me, so I returned to the garden after snapping the above photo to see if there were any others ready to be harvested. I couldn't find any that looked as promising but pulled four more anyway. They were a little on the small side. I think I will exercise some patience and wait a week or so to dig up the rest.

Earlier, I had been watering down some shredded leaves in a flower bed, and noticed a body of feathers behind an autumn clematis vine. I suspected that it was a dove that had lost its life somehow. As I don't especially enjoy being startled by an animal jumping up in my face, I called Chris out to confirm the status of the bird. After he assured me it was indeed deceased, I asked him to dispose of it for me. 'That's why I married you,' I said.

In the days of my youth, I wouldn't have hesitated to grab one of the dead animals that my ferocious cat had slaughtered. Then something happened to me. I think I was a little traumatized by the successive deaths of some beloved rodents. First, I was started by the cold, stiff body of my hamster, Butch, one day when I put my hand around that cute ball of fuzz to pick him up. Then, a few years later, to come home to find my rat, Ed, in a rather unnatural pose...

As my husband points out, I'll have to get used to that kind of thing again if we are to own a farm. (But again, isn't that what he's for?)

I used to...

About a year ago, we went to story time at the library like we usually do on Tuesdays. 'Library Pete' had been on vacation and said that he had been kayaking. I overheard one mother tell her toddler, 'Your mother used to go kayaking, too!' There was a little edge in her voice.

There are a lot of things I used to do, too.

I went backpacking.

I went mountain biking.

I hung out for hours at coffee shops.

I painted.

I made cards for most of my friends' birthdays.

I created random things out of random things.

I spent uninterrupted hours tending to flower and vegetable gardens.

I stayed up late.

For the past few years, I have felt a certain amount of, dare I say, resentment that I could no longer do whatever it was I wanted whenever I wanted. I have also felt a level of disappointment in myself that I don't have the ambition to continue to do some of these things while I tend to my first priority, my children.

Slowly, though, the negative feelings are fading as the revelation grows that raising and nurturing my children is the most wonderful thing I can be doing with my time.

The Season of Discontentment

Z is 3.5 months old, and I can see it in her eyes: discontentment.

As she reclines in her infant seat, her brows wrinkle, and she struggles to sit up. She kicks her legs and pummels the air with her fists, trying desperately, but getting nowhere. Other times, when sitting up, a toy inches from her face, she reaches out, snatching at the bright colors with her uncoordinated fingers. Once in a while, she manages to snag it and draw it to her mouth. Eventually, she cries in frustration.

I remember this stage with Joe, as well. The stage where they so desperately want to be doing something... anything... other than just lying there, staring into space.

I feel it, too. In spite of the comfort of a spacious house, a nice yard, and the convenience of the local grocery store, I feel the desire to move on to something else.

The Ghost of Mr. McNabb

Every once in a while, we will hear a strange noise or a door will open or slam shut all by itself. Invariably, if some one asks, 'What was that?' Chris or I will say, 'That was just Mr. McNabb.

Our house was built by Mr. and Mrs. McNabb in 1940. They raised two daughters in the house. Mr. McNabb worked in concrete, and we benefit from many of his clever creations, including a cement couch and porch swing hung from a drain pipe pillared shelter in the back yard.

Mr. McNabb was a smoker and an alcoholic. In the later years, the Mr. and Mrs. didn't get along very well. The two had separate rooms. The ceiling of his was yellowed from the cigarette smoke, and burn marks were on the hardwood floor where his cigarettes would drop when he would doze off into a drunken slumber.

The story goes that one evening, Mr. McNabb had a heart attack in the bathroom. Mrs. McNabb called the next door neighbor to come help. When the neighbor came over, Mr. McNabb was already dead and cold. Our neighbor was under the impression that Mrs. waited to be sure Mr. was dead before she called for help.

I am just thankful that it was Mr. McNabb that died in the house and not the Mrs. I have the feeling she is what drove him to drink. She must have been one of those grumpy nit-pickers. She wouldn't allow kids to play in her yard, and once called the cops on a boy who's basketball accidentally ended up in her shrub.

I am almost sad to say that every door slam we've experienced can be attributed to air pressure and every strange noise to mice or regular house settlings. I think Mr. McNabb would have liked us.

EH-PAH-NAY-SHUR!

We have a special riding-in-the-van CD. The kids don't want to listen to anything else.

Track 3 is their favorite. How Finley interpreted 'Elevation' as 'Ehpahnayshur' is beyond me.

As soon as the music starts, Joe and Fin start bobbing their heads, and soon they are ooo-ooing at the top of their lungs with Bono.

I'm wondering if these kids will ever get tired of it. I hope so. It's been in there for over 6 months.

Random Thought Post

My sister-in-law sent a link to one of those political 'what-are-you' quizzes , and come to find out, my views didn't line up with any of the candidates. In fact, the most my ideas matched with any one candidate was 43%. How could I vote for some one I can't agree with even half the time? In spite of my lack of enthusiasm, we went as a family yesterday and voted. At least I could go vote against the senators and reps that I thought should no longer be in office.

Today, I decided I'm not doing so badly in the parenting category. I met a lady who was frazzled because her 2 and 4 year old children wanted hot chocolate, and she felt obliged to cater to their whim. Children are not meant to run your lives, people. It is okay to say 'no.'

I am also amused by people who participate in CSA's, but won't let their child eat something that has fallen into regular dirt or grass. 'Ooo. That's icky!' I guess they don't realize that a little dirt in one's diet can help strengthen the immune system.

I really like dictionary.com. I use it frequently.

This morning, Chris was up at 3:30 am to go to Knoxville. As he was leaving at 3:45, I was up nursing Z. He told me that he was going to reset the alarm and I could shut it off in the morning. I could not, for the life of me, understand why he would reset his alarm (which normally goes off at 5:30) and force me to get up then. I got really frustrated. 'Why do you have to reset the alarm?'
'You don't get it, do you?' he asked, getting frustrated with me.
'No, I don't.'
It took a minute before it dawned on me that he was talking about the burglary alarm.

The "Crisis"

Listening to Dave Ramsey yesterday, a listener wrote in saying that he had been stressed about the economy until he quit listening to the news. He then found that he became relaxed and at peace.

One of Ramsey's favorite lines goes something like: '100% of the homes that are foreclosed on had mortgages.' That got me thinking again about how nice it would be to not have a mortgage hanging over our heads. Now that I'm not pregnant, I almost convinced myself yesterday that I wouldn't mind living in a tent or a trailer for a year while we remodeled or built [as long as we had a killer piece of property].

Anyway, today, in celebration of the ability to choose what helps shape my mental state, I am going to keep the radio off, turn on the automatic playlist on my computer that plays all my favorite songs, and be happy.

A Lucid Moment

In my railing against narrow thinking (lately, the literal seven days of creation train of thought), I stumbled upon a new idea that led me to question another traditional belief that death did not exist before the 'fall' of Adam and Eve.

I batted the idea around with my brother, who, in the midst of the conversation, warned that I might be bordering upon heresy. I don't remember exactly what it was that prompted the warning, but at the time it disturbed me a bit. Was I about to get myself thrown straight to hell for my thoughts? Anyway, now that I understand the definition of heresy, I don't mind playing the heretic once in a while. (Jesus was one, wasn't he?) I do greatly value those around me who are willing to tell me that I might be a little off, and challenge me to think things through a little better. I'd love to hear any thoughts you have on my ramblings.

Anyway, in the bath this morning [the great think tank of the the ages], I had a moment of lucidity. It went something like this:

If there was no birth, death, and decay cycle in Eden, what was the point of fruit? Seeds are meant to go into the ground to bring forth new life because the old will die out. How in the world would Adam and Eve understand the concept of 'perishing' if they ate the forbidden fruit if there was no example for them to see? Perhaps death did exist to show them what would happen in the event that they chose to follow their own idea of what was right.

I was also seeing another parallel that makes sense to me. This may seem crazy to everyone else reading, but... oh well. There are three levels of life. First there is plant life: life in body only. Next comes the animal kingdom with a whole new level of life... (dare I say a soul?) And when God created man, he added a spirit to the body and soul, completing the image of God.

And with that, it was time to get out of the shower and attend to my crying baby...

Therapy

The dirtying of one's fingers is a highly underrated experience.

I have felt a little not sane lately.

It might be the lack of sleep. Z's sleeping patterns are still rather irregular. And I've been up later these past few nights.

It might be the lack of thought-provoking, adult conversation. Finley is my most constant companion, but she isn't the greatest person to talk to. She tends to be very vague and talks in circles. Here is an example of our dinner conversation last night:

F- You do what you can do, Daddy does what Daddy can do, see, and Re does what Re can do, and Joe does what Joe can do, see, and we all do what we can do!

Me- What is it that I can do?

F- You do what you do!

Mind numbing, literally.

It might be the fact that I forget to eat because I am so busy taking care of everyone else.

It's probably a combination of these and other things. Regardless, I've been feeling a little off balance.

Today, Z fell asleep, and the kids (in order to preserve the last remaining remnant of my sanity) were plopped down in front of the TV. I ran out to check the mailbox (which was empty) and looked at my weedy flower bed.

I have been dreading the degrassification of this particular bed, thinking that the roots would have a grip of iron in the caked dirt and that I would have to resort to digging up the entire thing. I didn't want to go that route, as I have quite a few bulbs planted there, my favorites being a giant allium and some white, multi-flowering daffodils.

I bent down and yanked on a tuft of grass. It pulled out easier than I expected, the soil beneath light and fluffy from the mulch and grass clippings that have been decaying there over the seasons. My spirits rose, and I pulled out a few more handfuls of grass. Then I spotted some daffoldil bulbs that had surfaced, and I realized I couldn't bear to leave this bed like it was any longer. I ran inside to check on the kids, then headed to the garage to get my 'claw' and trowel.

A half an hour later, all the grass is gone and the bulbs are replanted. The soil lies naked, waiting to receive some plants, some cover. I am filled with a deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. I feel a little more sane.

Twinkies

Last night, Z and I took off for a girls' night out. I stopped at Mark & Molly's to drop off their camera. Molly (and, later, my friends) pointed out that we were dressed in similar outfits. I admit that this has happened to me frequently, although not purposefully. Somehow, whatever I am in the mood to wear that day ends up on one of my children as well, only for me to notice halfway through the day.

Today, since I was out rather late, Chris got up with the kids this morning and let me sleep in. When I came downstairs, I found there was another set of Twinkies in the house. Apparently, I'm not the only one that does it:

The 3 Month Photo Shoot

Back to the Garden

A couple weeks ago, Chris tilled up the mess that was my vegetable garden. We pulled out as much Bermuda grass (pronounced bu-mood-a if you are a real Southerner) as possible and I decided to try a second planting before the 'winter' weather comes to stay. It has been in the 80's here during the day, in the mid 60's at night. Meanwhile, my folks up in Montana got their first good snow for the year.

I had some left-over pea, radish, carrot, and lettuce seed, so planted some haphazard rows, and watered them in... I have a solid row of peas, and two of radishes. A row of timid carrot hairs are showing some promise, and a few lettuce seeds sprouted. I thinned out the radishes today, and saved them to top a salad later today. Mind you, I don't know if radish spouts taste good, but I figured it couldn't hurt to try them.

I also decided to rake some of the first fall leaves on a portion of the garden in an attempt to stifle all the sneaky little weedlings that popped up over night. Aside from the invasive Bermuda grass, another thing I despise about Southern flora is the crazy weeds that sprout in the fall. You'd think it was spring, watching the way these bold plants sprout in the face of oncoming winter. In a few weeks, I'll be able to pull up this stuff by the fist full.

I keep wanting to try an experiment, inspired by my Saturday morning listenings to Mike McGrath's "You Bet Your Garden" on NPR. Corn gluten meal is a preemergent herbicide and fertilizer in one. For six months after an application, the stuff kills the roots of any sprouting seed. It also gives the ground a good dose of nitrogen. Late summer or early fall would be the perfect time to apply it around here, as it would keep these weeds from sprouting, and our lawn would look fabulous the next spring. And if I applied it early enough, and skipped any fall plantings in my garden, perhaps I could start with a nearly weed-free garden in the spring! My only problem is I don't know where to find it around here, and I can't justify the cost at this point, anyway...

I know what some of you are thinking... Since I have such a small veggie garden, why haven't I built some raised beds, load it up with good soil and compost, enjoy the natural weed barrier, and fore go the tilling? I'd like to. But once again, I'm limited by time and finances. Someday, maybe.

Z at 3 months

And this is why some little babies are terrified of Chris (although ours end up thinking he's fairly entertaining):

Fantasy Football Frustration

It is unfortunate that I am so competitive. I makes me care about things more than I'd like to admit.

After a first week win, I have experienced a series of dismal failures. And I am about to blame it, in part, on 'Turf-Toe Tomlinson.'

We all know (at least those of us in Tennessee) what happened to Eddie George of the Titans once he received the infamous turf-toe injury: His career went down the tubes. And after consulting WebMD and finding that turf-toe usually needs a good three weeks to heal...

With the combination of LT's spotty record, and the conspiracy between my two quarterbacks, Eli Manning and Philip Rivers, it seems I am destined for failure this year. And conspiracy, it must be, because no matter who I decide to put in for the week, my benched players inevitably out-perform those I put in.

On top of it all, our league's commissioner is rubbing salt in the wound by sending me a plaque via e-mail, declaring me a last-place loser. Ah, well...

Jackpot

Today, I was allowed to leave the house with only my nursling in tow.

I desperately needed to go shopping for some pants that weren't athletic pants, that I felt like I looked nice in, and that were comfortable. That's a pretty tall order. And not knowing how long I am going to be the size and shape I am, I didn't want to spend much money.

So I went to Goodwill. It was so nice to have only a sleeping baby with me. I could take my time and not worry about my other two rambunctious little ones running down the aisles and hiding from me in the racks. The only negative was that they weren't there to help determine whether or not something I found might fit them.

I really liked the fact that this Goodwill store is organized by color and relative size. That made it easier to find something I might like.

As I was scanning through the tan women's pants, I came across a pair of prAna pants. I couldn't believe it. prAna is a line of yoga/climbing clothes that are very cool, and very pricey. One pair of pants usually sells for over $55. And they fit me.

I also found:

-a nearly satisfactory replacement for the charcoal grey cardigan sweater that my friend Al gave me years ago that, sadly, is suffering from unravelling sleeve ends

-a nice light-blue, long-sleeved shirt that I can already tell I will wear to death

-another pair of Eddie Bauer pants that I won't be embarrassed to wear someplace other than the grocery store

-and a bunch shirts and pants for the little ones

All of this for under $30.

Questions, Part 2

All too often, I find that when I write something, I look back at it a few hours later, find I have processed my thoughts a bit more, and wish I would have worded something differently or added something or left something out.

Looking back, I wish I had communicated more clearly in my 'Questions' post certain things. God can communicate to me through the reading of scripture if I just listen with spiritual ears rather than just trying to understand x & y with my mind. (It's the jumping to conclusions with uninformed minds that really freaks me out.) God can also communicate with things like dreams, visions, a bug crawling across the driveway, or what have you. (It is the folks that believe the Bible is the only way that God communicates that really freak me out.)

I really like when things are simple. When something is presented to me in a way that is too complicated, too wordy, too covoluted, I want to scream and run away.

Speaking of convoluted, did you watch the debate last night? I didn't hear much 'straight talk.'

Oh, The Fun Things We Do

One of the kids' new books is a story about some dragons that babysit some cats. They take the cats camping and toast marshmallows. So this is our little version of 'camping' until I get the guts to try the real thing someday:

Yesterday was rather rainy, and the kids wanted to play in the rain. I don't know how it is that Finley decided to wear her dragon costume in the rain, much less why she decided they ought to build a wall... But I was impressed. They even used mud for mortar in between the bricks:This is as far as they got before I forced them inside for a bath and lunch:

Questions

Although there seems to be some confusion about the origin and meaning of my name, and aside from the fact that my parents didn't expect to have to name a girl and scrambled to find a name they liked, I suppose it fits me well. One meaning is 'seeker of truth'... and I like to ask questions. This tends to leave me a bit frustrated at times, especially when the answers don't come easily.


I have been thinking about the Bible some. And I'm thankful we don't live in the dark ages, because I'd be afraid to say anything and be burned at the stake as a heretic or something. But here is my confession: the Bible is a source of frustration to me at this point in my life.

One source of frustration comes from the fact that I don't know Hebrew or Greek. I will read a passage in one translation, look it up in another, and get two completely different spins on the verses. One translation can be worded with grace, another can feel like an accusing finger is being pointed in your face. (Take Hebrews 5:14 for example, the NIV and the original Living translations.*) As a mother of three young children, I don't have the hours to devote to in depth research. (I do, however, have make time to whack away at this keyboard.)

Another source of my Biblical frustration is the fact that I am not all too familiar with the Jewish culture of the time. Our interpretation of scripture as we look through a Western lens can differ greatly from the original meaning. When I am reading, and realize that I don't have all the information needed to understand something properly, it makes me grumpy. I felt the same way reading James Joyce. Although A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man was one of my favorite reads, I felt like I was missing out on a lot. I started to read Ulysses, but gave up.

I also get frustrated with politics. I listen to all the mud-slinging and empty promises. (The president does not have the power to instantly make all these promises come to fruition... why can't they admit that, and why does the public believe he can?) I listen to every one's reasons about why they are voting for whom. Then I find myself stuck in the middle, frustrated with the ignorance shown on both sides. My only solace is knowing that I will get a good laugh watching SNL during election years.

As I've been stewing a bit about all of this complicated mess, and certain answers aren't coming easily, I have been reminded that it doesn't matter all that much. Relationships matter more than answers to all those questions I have.

It strikes me as a sad joke that many people try have a 'relationship' with God based only on reading the Bible or pursuing religion. How could I get to know my husband through his letters (what letters? ha.), a list of his likes and dislikes, or just based on the things others say about him?

When I was younger, I would sneak out of the house during thunderstorms and run around in the rain, watching the lightning in the sky, enjoying the feel of the cold rain on my skin. Other times I would climb our sycamore tree to its top, rocking with the swaying branches in the wind. I remember watching a hawk take flight from nearby and float up on the air currents. I was communing with God, spirit to spirit.

Times like those are fewer these day. My communion with God comes mostly in the pauses of busyness or the quiet of mindless tasks. And once in a while, during those moments, he'll answer a question or two.


*Come to find out, the Living translation of the Bible that I looked the verse up in is no longer in use. I could not find any translations online that were worded like the one I made reference to. Now, there is the New Living translation. I guess they decided the old one wasn't any good.

Crazy Horse

Remember how I told you that Finley has been pretending to be a horse?

My brother captured the essence of it.

As she told him, her name was "Spirit... as in spirited."

Weekend Edition

Ever wonder what it is like in our little world of home schooling? Most days, I go over the calendar and the weather with Finley, then we sit down together to do a couple of worksheets. Reanna completes the work assigned for the week on her own, then checks her own work with the teacher editions I've handed over to her. If she has any questions, she asks. I wasn't being very timely correcting her work last year. Weeks later, I would find something she wasn't doing correctly. That wasn't exactly the best way for her to learn. (I do administer the quizzes and tests and correct those, lest you think...)

Some days are a little less organized. (That isn't saying much.) Take this past Friday for example: We loaded up into the van and drove to Shelby park. Reanna scooped up some pond water in a jar. Then we looked for an acorn, as we had read about them in Your Big Backyard, a magazine Finley receives. We checked to see if the nature center was open, but it wasn't. Then walked the trail a little ways to see if there was any murkier water to be found.

When we got home, I was starved and so were the kids, so as I juggled fixing lunches, attempting to eat myself, and nurse Ziv, I got out an old (and I mean old) microscope that I had salvaged years ago from a school that was undergoing renovation. Reanna and I sucked up floaties in the pond water, then checked them out under the microscope to see what we had. We found a fairly unimpressive blob, some plant material, then we hit pay-dirt.

A water flea:

Only ours didn't have the eggs inside of it. You should have seen it in action. Eventually, after developing an excruciating headache from staring through the little lens for so long, I pricked my finger so that we could examine some blood platelets. I was a little disappointed to discover that they were much smaller that I had imagined. We needed a stronger lens to really see the little blobs well. Reanna also tried to extract some goo from a fly to compare it with our blood, but that didn't work so well, either. I can't tell you exactly what we learned, but it was fun.

Yesterday, the kids spent the day with Aunt Molly. They went to a pumpkin patch and to cousin Victor's soccer game. Chris, Ziv, and I went with some other friends to see the Grascals play in a Bluegrass Underground show. It was quite fun. Even if you aren't too familiar with bluegrass, the experience is well worth the relatively inexpensive $15 ticket and pleasant drive.

Today, Nana is coming over to see the kids after spending a week on a cruise ship. Then, hopefully, we will all get a good nap in to recover from all the excitement of the past several days.

The Cream Can- a memory shared

Excerpt from an email my mother sent:

Sunday (yesterday) after church and "brunch" at home, we took a pail of plums to Jeff and Sandy at the farm. We had such a good time visiting them; when we were ready to leave Jeff says, "I have something to give you, if you promise to share it with others." And I said, Well, it depends on what it is.........So he took me to the back room of the garage, and there on a shelf was my grandad's old cream can with "G. Bolenske" painted on it, just like it was years ago.......My, oh, my.......what a bunch of warm, wonderful memories that old cream can brought back......I was very touched! In the can was some old, homemade laundry soap. I don't ever remember Gramma making soap, but Jeff said he remembers Lillian making some.......Anyway, I am so excited to have this old cream can. It brought back the memories I have of watching Grandad milk on his three-legged stool, with his head against the cow's warm side, the sound of the milk hitting the bucket, and how fast he milked, striping the teat at the end with his two stubs of a finger. And the warm, dark, cozy feeling in that old barn.. And how he carried the warm, foaming bucket of milk to the porch, where he poured it into the separator...the cream going into the cream can to take to the Laurel Creamery......The Creamery was next to the Lutheran church we attended, and has a particular clean, moist smell to it when you entered. Later, we would have to pick up the cream can and the cream check at the Creamery. I also remember the time Dandy let me "try" to milk Old Roan, the tamest cow, whose huge udders would just drip with milk because they were so full.......I still remember how weird, and rough those udders felt, and really how difficult it was to get the milk to start flowing.......
Anyway what a special gift that was......It is rather amazing because Gramma and Dandy moved into Laurel, you know, and somehow that old cream can was saved......probably by Dandy.....because Gramma was pretty good about cleaning useless items out...... !

On Finley- before I forget

1. A few months ago, Finley started answering me (on her own) with a "yes sir!"

2. A few days ago, she asked Chris to write the time down on a little piece of paper. A few minutes later, she asked him to do it again. She then taped the piece of paper to another and created her own wristwatch.

3. After receiving instruction from Reanna on dance moves, and instruction from me on how to write her letters, she now likes to teach us how to do these things.

4. We recently acquired a movie about a horse. Finley has started pretending she is a horse named Sally. She whinnies, throws her head around, and paws the air. It resembles something like a crazed wildcat.

5. She has discovered the joys of mud.

(And, yes, she in the one that accidently man-handled the worm to death.)

1000 Words

The waiting game.

My brother and sister-in-law were asking this weekend about our 'plan' to move out of the city. We are in the waiting stage. We have decided to wait until the school year is almost over to even begin to think seriously about looking. Because we are home schooling Reanna, and it is working out so well with her dance schedule and her mom's work schedule, moving now would throw a wrench in the works. There is also the uncertainty in the housing market. There is the question of what Chris really wants to do to earn a living at that point, as I am fairly sure we aren't savvy enough to be completely self-sustaining right off.

Every now and again... when cops are yelling through the bull horn at some guy three doors down... when our lovely neighbor down the block decides to burn the insulation off some electrical wire on the first night we have our windows open... when some other mysterious smell wafts down from the pool chemical plant up the way... we get a little anxious to be away from it all. But all in all, I believe in destiny, and it all works out nicely in the end if it isn't forced.

I remember the misery of looking for a house to buy. At first, we wanted to buy a house in Antioch, TN, since we were good friends with several people that lived out that way. We looked, and looked, and looked... It got to the point where I was SO sick of looking and finding nothing I really liked, that I told Chris the next house he found that he really liked, I would just go along with. He found one. It had a two car garage, a nice, finished-out basement, a deck with a hot tub, and a fake fireplace in the living room... He wanted to put in an offer and ask for the work benches and the pool table. I laughed, but told him to go ahead.

The night we put the offer in, I panicked. The front yard was a 15-20' slope right down to the front door. The back yard was a steep wooded slope. Where would I put a garden? I didn't even know if the sun would shine through any of the windows in the house. I hated the place.

Thankfully, they turned down our offer, and we turned down their counter-offer. We even turned them down when they offered us our original offer. I was relieved.

We ended up finding another house in Donelson that we both loved. The previous owner had tricked it out with lights that turned on automatically when you opened the closets. There was a passageway from a bedroom over the kitchen and into the attic space above the garage. A light in the garage flashed if you left the light on in the attic. There was a ham radio antenna. There were roses and daffodils and who knows what in the yard. I had only been on the market for three days. We put in an offer, but some one else beat us to the punch. We were disappointed, but we waked away with hope, knowing that there was bound to be another house we could both agree on.

Finally, I talked Chris into looking in East Nashville. He was hesitant. He had history there he wasn't too keen to be reminded of. When we stepped into our house, we knew it was the one. It had that old-person smell, and old lady wallpaper donned the walls. Mouse poison was dumped into muffin tins under the old, red counters, and the water was brown and smelled like sulphur. There was coal still left in the wide-open basement. Out back near the 'creek' was a cement couch and picnic table. I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself.

Chris drove by the next day to take another look, and met our neighbor, Joe. They immediately took to each other. With the realization that, as he was no longer engaged in illegal activities, he no longer needed to be afraid of the cops, Chris agreed that this was the place.

I really believe that we were meant to live here these past five years. Our neighbors are just what we have needed for this time in our lives. Having an 'adoptive Nannie' next door for the kids has been a huge blessing for me. (Remind me later to tell the story of my wedding rings.) And we have benefited and grown from the other relationship we have developed while living here. We were prevented from making a ignorant financial mistake. If we would have bought one of the other houses, we would have been strapped financially.

The idea of looking for a new place seems a bit daunting. I'm not sure how much I need to worry about zoning and soil conditions and what not... Chris and I sometimes have different ideas about housing. He wouldn't mind building from scratch. I love the idea of taking something old and bringing new life to it. I want to make sure that we don't buy too much so that we aren't able to maintain the property, but I want enough to support a massive garden, some chickens, a couple dairy cows, and maybe a pig or some other animals...

I'm not getting over-anxious about it, though. I have this feeling one day, we'll step on a property and know it is the one. And in the mean time, we are content to wait until the time is right, whether that is in the spring or twenty years from now...

The Sacrificial Worm

an unsuspecting worm,

caught up in curious hands

that won't let go

until it's over.

Family Update

Zivah will be two months old on Tuesday. Such an occasion is an excuse to borrow my brother's camera and take way too many photos of the kids.

Check out Z's chubby thighs.

She is a baby of a million different looks. It all depends on how gravity is pulling on those cheeks.

Here she is rewarding her mama with a smile and display of excitement.

She is happiest right after a feeding and a diaper change. We have our best moments at the changing table. That's when we talk... or rather, I talk, and she throws in an 'oo' or a little screech here and there.

Early on, I figured out that her skin was sensitive to regular wipes. Her little bum would get beet red, and when I wiped her, she would cringe and make this creaking/strange bird screeching noise, telling me she didn't like the way it felt. Thankfully, there is no more diaper rash.

She spits up a lot. She still cries when she has gas. She has started sleeping for a six hour stretch most nights. I'm not used to that (as Finley and Joe both did two four hour stretches at night), but I won't complain. She likes to watch her mobile slowly spin, and usually starts to fuss as soon as the animals stop moving. Sometimes she is content to just sit in her infant seat. Sometimes she's not. Sometimes she'll take long naps in the morning. Sometimes she won't. Z is my random baby. I never know what our days will look like.

Finley requested a cape the other day. She watched a few episodes of a cartoon called 'Word Girl.' She's upset because I won't let her watch it anymore. Word Girl lies to her parents to hide the fact that she is a super hero. That's not okay with me. If Finley was a superhero, I would let her go fight the bad guys instead of clean her room. She wouldn't have to lie to me. Anyway.

Finley wanted a cape, so scrounging in the scrap box, I ran across a section of skirt I had to cut off the one I made for Finley several months ago. (It would have fit an elephant it I hadn't cut some of it off.) The scrap would make for a perfect cape, except, as Finley pointed out, there was no pink. So I sewed on a pink star.

As soon as I finished, Finley ran outside, wearing the cape. She told me she needed to wait for a big wind so that she could fly. I have the feeling that she won't wear it that much, now that she's realized this cape won't really make her fly. Reality is so disappointing.

Reanna is back in the swing of dance and home school. Well, sort of. This week she is on vacation with her mom, so I don't have any new photos of her yet...

Here is hot-rod Joe. I think Joe would ride his bike 24/7 if allowed to, stopping only for bananas and Ovaltine. He has worn out the front tire of his trike by slamming on his 'brakes' and skidding to a stop. (Look closely in the red circle below.) There is now a nice thumping as he rides along. We are trying to figure out how to repair or replace the tire.

I took the morning off. When I was gone, Chris left the kids in the basement as he worked on putting up the last two closet doors in our room. Soon, Joe came upstairs, carrying his diaper, saying that he had pooped. Chris panicked. There was no poop in the diaper. There was no poop in the toilet. Joe led Chris to the storage room in the basement where we had stored the training potty after the stale, stinky pee incident. He had pooped and peed in (and all over) the training potty in the basement. Way to go, Joe.

Too Much Information... II

I had to vent a little.

A long time ago, I heard a teaching about suffering that has stuck with me. At the last supper, (I hope I am remembering this correctly) John asks if he can sit next to Christ in heaven, and Jesus responds with, "can you drink the cup I drink?" Jesus was asking John if he was willing to share in his suffering.

Suffering is not just being nailed to a cross. Suffering is also, in part, having to live in the presence of evil and sin. Suffering is seeing the wrongs happening in the world and not being able to do much about it.

The trick is to live in the face of evil and still have hope, love, and peace.

Too Much Information...

I'm having a moment...

Actually, I've been having this moment all day long. Lots of random things running around in my head in between the toilet scrubbings and pee clean-ups. (The kids got put to bed a half hour earlier than normal tonight. Somedays you can only handle so much. Don't worry. We are letting them play in their room in their jammies.)

I picked up a National Geographic at the doctor's office on Friday. (By the way, Z is out of the harness, and we go back in two months just to make sure everything has stayed where it is supposed to.) Flipping through the pages trying to find some interesting photos for Finley and me to look at, I came across pictures of 'electronic trash' piled up in third-world countries. One photo showed a little boy taking apart a mouse to harvest the metals inside. Scattered around him were hundreds of mice. Another showed a man pouring molten lead from one pan to another. He was using his cookware to melt the lead off circuit boards. Yet another showed a guy standing in a cloud of [toxic] black smoke while he tended the fire that was melting the insulation off power cords and phone lines. Ugh. I'll not say what I'm thinking. At least not all of it. Our consumerism makes me nauseous, though...

Having a new baby makes you think a lot of the other birthing experiences. I had been thinking about my experience having Joe and how long it took to heal and how lucky I was, really, to heal as well as I did. And then we watched some news report about the war in Congo, and how rape is just a part of what is happening there. One doctor was interviewed that is treating many of the women that are raped. They are being so brutally raped that the doctor can't repair the damage to some of them and they end up having to use colostomy bags for the rest of their lives.

Then I hear an interview with a guy in a shelter waiting out hurricane Gustav. He was complaining because they had to use port-o-johns. Poor guy.

If all goes well, I'll win my first fantasy football game. We were laughing last night. I wanted the Colts to only score with field goals. I have their kicker on my roster. Chris wanted only TDs, as he has Manning. I was hoping the Bears would only score touchdowns or not at all. My opponent had the Bears' kicker on his roster. I didn't care who won the real game. FF makes you watch the games a little differently.

Surfing through some of the Craft Mafia websites, I found a site I really liked: Harrilu.com. If I had lots of money to spend, I would buy something like this:

The text reads 'small but scrappy.' More so, I just wish I had the time to find lots of clothes at a second-hand store and make them as cool as the stuff I am tempted to buy.

Sigh.

While reading Five Acres and Independence, I ran across a layout for garden that would support a family of six. It showed the dimesions, row spacing, what to plant.... I realized that the 100 x 200 foot plot was nearly the exact size of our current lot. All I need to do is tear down the house.

Z is turning into a little chub. And a confession: the tie-dyed onsie, I spent $20 on at a artisan festival while I was pregnant. I justified it because the hippie selling the stuff gave me some pointers.