Things I Never Thought I Would Have to Say, Part Three

“Stop licking the bus stop!”

Vocabulary of the Day:

Post-Herpetic Neuralgia-A generalized painful sensation experienced after encountering a lizard.

SNOW. That's right. I'm thinking this winter's going to be a doozie.

Breaking Biggie News Flash

She won a national Amtrak essay contest!!!

She wrote the essay while we were traveling on the Amtrak Cascade in Oregon in August. The notification was delivered to me by FedEx just now. She didn't win the grand prize of some sort of El Capitan super train, but rather one of 14 "first" prizes of a Polar Express train set--which is the one she wanted, anyway.

Very many thanks to Uncle Nat, who speedily hand-delivered the essays to the only open Post Office at the eleventh hour the night they were due. You need to come play with the train!

Happy day!

Keeping It Surreal

As I pulled up to my dentist's office today, I noticed what looked like a corral next to the building...and in it, a young heifer who tried to eat my coat sleeve when I fed her some stray hay. Dr. Piskorowski's latest rescue project, indeed.

Man, sometimes I just love Ithaca.

I ordered the Wee One a teeny red backpack for school. It arrived on Friday and she promptly packed it for our upcoming “Girl Trip” to Oregon (the poor Husband has to stay here and work). Here is what she deemed essential equipment for venturing to the hinterlands of the West Coast:

4 packets of Swiss Miss instant hot cocoa, with marshmallows
2 packets microwave popcorn
5 quarters, 1 nickel and 4 pennies
1 pound pitted prunes
1 cup raisins
1 package tamari-seaweed rice cakes
2 graham crackers
1 box, lime Jell-O
2 shirts
1 pair Princess underpants
2 socks, mismatching

I think we're ready.

The Hostile Takeover is Complete

It finally happened. I had to look up a word used by the Biggie. It wasn’t that big a word, and upon retrospect I knew what it meant (this is the “saving face” portion of the program, folks) but she was flinging words at me; we were in mid-fight mode, and I was rattled by her multi-syllabic grenades coupled with my cumulative years of sleep deprivation. “Mama,” she said, “You are simply irrefutable!” and stormed off in a cloud of pre-tween dust. When I asked her what she meant by that (hoping to catch her in show-off mode, like a sophomore Philosophy major), she quoted a dictionary-perfect definition.

Sigh.

Vocabulary of the Day

Perhaps this one shouldn't count, because it's real, but here is an actual journal title that I've been pulling abstracts from today: Vox Sanguinis, abbreviated "Vox Sang" in citations. Yes, that would be, in Latin, "The Voice of Blood."

A little light reading for your nightstand, there.

Parenting Genius Award
(If I knew how to do anything fancy I would insert sparkling graphics or perhaps a cartoon dancing kitten here.)

I would just like to take a moment to present myself with the long-sought, most glorious Parenting Genius Award. This award marks one of the few opportunities in parenting to rest on your laurels, pat yourself on the back and say, “Job well done!”*

Unfortunately I cannot tell you what the award is for. To do so would be to violate the privacy of the Biggie. Suffice it to say that, together, she and I are in the process of conquering one of her deepest and longest-held Big Bad Issues, one I was concerned would plague her into adulthood; something I considered one of my greatest, dismal failures as a parent.

Whooha, or “Yehoo!” as the Wee One would say! A lifetime supply of chocolate for me!

*Be aware that this action will immediately call into effect Murphy’s Law, which will bring you to your knees.

A comment made on the last post (thanks, Amy) made me realize I should explain something. The vocabulary of the day posts (all two of them) come from actual words or phrases I come across in the research related to my work, and my imagined meanings for them. The definitions rise from my criss-crossed Latin language/Biology Major*/random non-professional medical worker/M.Ed. background, heavily influenced by the brain degradation I’ve experienced since I had children. I’ll try to remember to post the actual meaning (if I can figure it out) in the comments section.

Speaking of brain degradation, I’m wondering—can anyone actually spell “ophthalmological” without double-checking themselves?

* Adding to the confusion, though I majored in Biological Sciences, my undergraduate degree is actually a Bachelor of Arts (or Artium Bacheloris, as Cornell prefers to call it--the piddling Latin I took allows me to translate that as "Bachelor of Arts").

Vocabulary of the Day:

Intraoperative pachymetry-The systematic measurement of anesthetized elephants.

Quote of the Day, Out of the Random Mouths of Babes, Biggie edition:

"Every clock in this house says a DIFFERENT TIME. It is exactly like VENICE."

Vocabulary of the day:

Hypovolemia - a dangerous lack of small insectivorous mammals

This is what happens when my checkered educational and career backgrounds intersect.

OK that was sortof frightening. I'll put some normal pictures up soon.

I don't know what I'm doing with this picture thing, the taking of, posting of, etc. These gorgeous photos were taken with my cell phone. Here is the Biggie, and what I like to call (after the heart-to-heart I had with our dentist today) The $5,000 Mouth. Observe the artfully crafted double cross-bite and the gynormously overcrowded teeth in all their glory. Six of those puppies are coming out to make way for gold-plated orthodontia, ladies and gentlemen!



And here is the sweet Wee One. She's not wearing lipstick; half her face is chapped. I am *this* close to rubbing cayenne pepper on her lips to keep her from licking them.

Well hey there, good lookin'. Long time, no see. How's tricks?

OK, it has been a while. Lame excuses: I was busy. I forgot my blogger login. My mojo was lo-lo. My yin and yang were being balanced. My aura was in the shop.

Let's bring y'all up to the present. The Biggie and Wee One are the same, only skinnier, taller and even more chatty than before. The Big is in second grade and would rather do schoolwork than go out to recess. The Wee is in her last months of preschool and is no less tornado-like. Milo the dog has lost a couple of toenails and Sylvie the Ancient Cat is still creaking around, yowling for salmon and milk. We are down one turtle (it ran away) and up one goldfish. I haven't seen the snake for a week, so I'm assuming it's hibernating. Winter is lasting a bit too long.

The Husband is working his already-diminutive heinie off, a fact which has caused me to slowly take over more house responsibilities and diminishes my other activities like, oh, blogging. We have a little bit of a bunker mentality going on here at the Quistilton Ranch, though I'm not sure exactly what sort of siege we're expecting. Maybe it's time to go out in the sunshine, eh?

I am still working at my wonderful job, though not too much, since Wee is only in half-day preschool. I am guiltily and eagerly awaiting the fall, when both my kids will be in school all.day.long. Just think of all the cleaning and working and showering and exercising I will be able to do! That's after I sleep for a month. A teensy-weensy article I wrote was recently published on the internet, yeeha. Nothing in actual newsprint yet, and I just realized the check hasn't come in the mail, either. No matter; I'll be expecting that Pulitzer nomination any day now.

Alrighty then, Wee wants her mac and cheese and my timer has run out.

It's nice to be back.

Once Again, Brought to You By Insomnia

Is anyone else attempting to read all of the previous Harry Potter books before the LAST ONE comes out? I’m only on number 2, and a new work assignment + constant kid duty means I have little chance of finishing them all. Plus I realized I have an all-day teacher training (for church, no I haven’t gone out and gotten a real job!) THE DAY THE BOOK COMES OUT. Argh.

Summer has finally arrived up on the hill; we had our first uncomfortably hot day Monday and Tuesday was no better. Fortunately we had lovely friends in town visiting (Lisa from “What Free Time?”—NO free time, now that she is pregnant with #3) and they helped us beat the heat. Today is supposed to be slightly less horrid. I have learned my lesson and won’t even go into town (=stinking hot asphalt mecca) today—we’ll stay up on the windy hill, dip our feet in the wading pool and retreat to the woods when the going gets tough.

We received a postcard yesterday from the people who own the five acres behind us—they’re selling and wish to give us first crack—and thus will begin what I’m sure will become our epic land-buying spree on The Hill. I once heard someone say, “A farmer’s only happy when he owns all the land touching his property,” and I think that attitude is rubbing off on us. There is so much peace attached to knowing we have relatively unbroken woods all around us; we want to make sure the tranquility isn’t disturbed by, horrors, a neighbor within sight or shouting distance! This is all so contrary to my former “new urbanist” views of old that it makes me wince (go ahead, calculate the miles I drive each day and make me feel guilty for my carbon emissions), but you know what, I’ve done my time in the downtown jungle. Besides, the six-year-old shining gold Ford Focus got 33 miles per gallon on my last trip back to Massachoo, take that, greenhouse gas Nazis!

(Brief aside: You’re getting me at peak insomnia exhaustion today, so it’s going to be silly. Please excuse.)

Which brings me to my new obsession, THE VANAGON. Yes, I now want nothing more than to traipse around the country visiting national parks and historical landmarks in a camper van. I will be able to cook bacon—IN MY CAR. I CANNOT EXPRESS how excited I am by this possibility, made so much closer to reality by the people of Pop Top Heaven who lovingly restore and sell vintage VW Westfalia campers. I envision years of forcing my children to play the license plate game in my future!

Oh yes, the children. The Biggie has not stopped reading for this entire summer vacation. She acts all miffed and snotty when I ask her to do something so lowly as, say, clearing her breakfast dishes. We have been reduced to threatening her with timeouts “with no books!” “Put down that book right now and get outside!” the Husband was heard to say recently; may I remember these times of epic tribulation fondly, when she is a sneaky boy-chasing teenager.

Wee, on the other hand, is experiencing a renaissance unequaled in her short history. She is using manners. She is controlling the volume of THE VOICE. She listens to direction and even follows it most of the time. She cheerfully and willingly cleans up/makes her bed/sets the table. It is unprecedented, and amazing. The two of them together are having an absolutely lovely summer, though they may not realize it—we have gone swimming, hiking, wild berry picking, newt-hunting, animal tracking (foxes! 2 feet from our house!), biking, and road-tripping. They make up these crazy and wonderful games to play together. Just when I think I will go out of my gourd, the Biggie comes up with some goofy trick that will occupy her sister for half an hour. Ah, once in a while I think I might actually be raising them right.

Well the insomnia buzzer has sounded, and I’m out for the night. Have a good one, folks!

The Wee One calls seagulls “snow eagles.”

Thunderclouds are looming, the sky is rumbling and there’s a tornado warning in effect. All appropriate for the day, as far as I’m concerned.

This was the Biggie’s last day of first grade, her last day with the teacher who so lovingly nurtured her through kindergarten and first grade, who brought her from reading single words to off-the-elementary charts grown-up books prowess. She has taught her so much, all better than I ever could, and the Big loves her to the point that she often calls me by her teacher’s name. What more could I ask from the public school system? But we have moved, and after faithfully driving the Biggie ten miles into town every day since December for school, we are transferring her to our neighborhood school, a sweet place but definitely different; bigger, less crunchy, with less of a neighborhood feel. I’m sure I’ll come to love this school too over the next six years as the Big and then the Wee move through its corridors, but right now it’s an unknown, and as I get older I deal less and less well with uncertainty. You can take the girl out of New England, but you can’t take the New England out of the girl.

To add to the emotional upset of leaving Big’s school, our dear friends Monica and Paul and their four sweet kids left town today for the greener shores of Eugene, Oregon. I’m happy that they’re headed for a better situation (don’t get me started, thinking about the supreme coolness of Oregon and Eugene in particular), but the small, selfish part of myself that lurks in the barred-off recesses of my mind is deeply bitter. These guys are so cool; they see every challenge (surprise twins, then an even bigger surprise, one of the twins has Down’s Syndrome) as just another reason to do more and be more. There is no getting these guys down. As someone who lets herself get down on an all-too-frequent basis, I benefitted from having such a great example of kick-assedness around. And now they’re gone. Luckily we can follow their adventures on their web site organichaus.com, link coming soon (when I get up from being down).

Well, the tornado has passed as I’ve been writing, dumping epic rain and twisty winds up here on the hilltop. The late-day sun is out and the hummingbirds are zooming around the feeder again.

Not such a bad day, after all.

Why, oh why, again with the waking up at 2 a.m.? Sigh. I lay there in the pitch-dark, utterly awake, when I heard a sound that reminded me of a long-haul trailer shifting as it goes up a big hill. A low hum, it shifted pitch and faded in and out. I realized it was the wind running through the contours of the many arms and hollows of our little glacier-carved mountain—the hill was singing.