two things and more

My husband has been gone these past two evenings, leaving home around six-thirty, to be up at his mother's before seven, the time at which the shift of "Bill's Girls" ends...
But that's another story.

Having this time "alone" with my boys, I forget to:
1. think about Dinner,
2. prepare Dinner,
3. clean up after Dinner, and
4. clean up after cleaning up after Dinner.

Don't get me wrong here, my husband appreciates everything (just about) and anything (almost) I manage to get on the table. And likewise. And I really do enjoy it when we all sit down to Dinner, and light the candle, and say nummy-nummies, and talk non-stop about our days. Or at least try to. Usually the conversation does a degenerate doublebackhandspringdismount off the table and into the sewer by the time Dinner is over. Such is family life with three boys.

For the past two nights, though, it's been dinner. Frozen pizza. Michelina's microwaveables, single-serving yogurts, Wheat Thins and cream cheese, juice....whatever else they can scavenge for themselves in the kitchen that requires the bare minimum of preparation. Can't say as I blame them.

Meanwhile, I take a bath. When Bennett interrupts my bath to tell me he wants to listen to Christmas carols, I ask him to ask Grant to put on the Traditional Christmas Carols Pandora station for him. He wants the music on to help him finish up his GT geocity project that's due tomorrow. Grant robotically does what is asked, then returns to his Manga book, which he borrowed from his friend Mika who borrowed it from a friend. In the back of my mind, I think, "That's what makes a book truly good." Even though I could never read it.

You people who have no kids, yeah, I'm talking to YOU! You have NO EARTHLY IDEA what parents and teachers go through during the weeks before Christmas. It's just one deadline and due date after another. Book Project? Check. Final GT project? Check. Scrooge Musical? Check. Orchestra Concert? Check. Concert Band Performance? Check. Poem Memorized? Check. Goodies baked for teachers? Check. Goodies packaged and labeled for teachers? Check. Goodies in backpack to take to teachers? Check.

And those are simply the activities that my family experiences outside the bounds of The Little School. LSV has its own built-in stressor (not counting The Ball and Medieval Day and Robin Hood Family Book Club!): The Beta Quadrant Show. In Three Days. I know what overwhelming satisfaction and happiness will come after we've successfully pulled it off, so it's worth it. But the working up to it....... it's just so much.......work.

After my bath, I plan tomorrow's LSV schedule with an attention to detail that would make someone with ADD proud (because they do, you know, pay exasperating attention to detail. When they want to.).

What was the main idea of this story again?

Oh yeah, I got to spend time with my boys this evening, just helping them with projects, and hanging out. Which brings me to the fact that all I originally started out to say in this blog post is that I would like to share two funny things that made me laugh tonight, one involving each of my sons.

Bennett's gem: Up in his bunkbed, while hugging me good night, he asks, "What, exactly, is the meaning of humbug?"

"It means when you.....you know, when you feel.....well, it means...it means humbug."

Seriously, that was my answer. Good thing the boys thought it was hilarious. Remember when you first realized that some words truly have no definitions? They just ARE? And that to know the word, you have to know so much more than the word? You need its context, its story, its period, its character. Having just played the young man Ebenezer in Scrooge, and actually getting to say "humbug", well... he realized he already knew what it meant.

As for Grant, tonight he finished writing the entire Desiderata in calligraphy. Of course, it's not in any kind of font I tried to teach him, like Carolingian or Gothic. No, of course not. Instead, it's his own script he "invented". Then he refused to use lines under his parchment (ugh!)..... , and refused to start over if he made a mistake (ugh!), but damn! he wrote THE WHOLE FUCKING DESIDERATA in calligraphy! By candlelight. And now he wants to make copies of it, bind them, and sell them at SPQR on Thursday night during the Medieval Fair portion of the show.

Only one small problem while trying to make the copies ... the printer wouldn't work. Grant had just replaced the ink cartridge, and something was wacky. Right at the point when he was most peeved at the printer, I casually, only a bit cruelly, said, "You know, there's a low-tech answer for every high-tech question."

He turned on me as if I were a vampire and he had a wooden stake in his hand. "No. Way. I am so NOT copying this whole thing over ten times. No Way."

It was at that moment, I think, that he truly got the whole "Writing During the Middle Ages" thing. Oh, he knew it on an intellectual level, how monks spent years of their lives copying manuscripts, and about the importance of words and the significance of access to them. But this was visceral. And it was terrifying.

And it was very, very funny.

priceless

Today, as we stepped out of the car at about 2:45 pm, the air smelled of rain. Not just any rain, but the rain after a long, long dry spell. It was magnificent. But what came out of my 10-year-old's mouth was even more magnificent.

Me: You know what? There's actually a word for this smell.... I don't remember what it is though. I heard about it on NPR from that guy who read the OED.

Grant: Really? Well, it's not really a smell.... it's an emotion we take in through our nose.

what is new is old

If you have a reader in your family between the ages of about seven and eleven, then you will certainly have heard of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. The story's the same as always: young outcast finds out he is the chosen one. It's been called a rip off by so many; there is no need to add my voice to the critics.

What matters to me is this: Percy Jackson and the Olympians-The Lightning Thief is the first novel (besides the graphic novels of classics he reads at school) that my 9-year-old son finished on his own. In anticipation of the movie release on Feb. 12th, I began reading it to him. About 3/4 of the way through, I realized we would never finish in time--if he wanted to see the film, he would have to finish the book on his own. He wasn't happy about this. And yet, inspired by his friends Ursen and Albert, he persisted.

Today, Bennett proudly proclaimed to me that he is on chapter 4 in the next book in the series (there are five). It will most likely be the first book he will have read from cover to cover. I knew his time would come.

Because of Percy Jackson, my older son's knowledge of Greek mythology is far superior to mine. Recently, while admiring a painting with me in a local gallery (it's number 4), he had the opportunity to fill in my knowledge gaps on the subject of Morpheus. Nothing like being lectured to by a 10-year-old in front of a group of strangers!

Last Friday, a group of us took the afternoon off from school in order to be the first ones to see the film. The boys made their own Camp Half-Blood t-shirts and beaded necklaces. Suzanne found her inner Medusa, and I had no problem being "the fury hiding inside the teacher". Together, our geeky fun-loving clan took up an entire row of the theater!

The movie, quite frankly, was pretty mediocre. Enough has been written about that as well. But I have found you can pretty much enjoy anything, as long as you lower your expectations, and smuggle chocolate into the show! After the movie, over bagels and cream cheese, the kids and grown ups discussed the differences between the book and the movie. (Far too many to even begin!)

There will be time enough to become serious critics of literature and film. Until then, we will continue to be inspired and entertained by the same old story. Inspired to dress up, to make believe, and to dream our lives into bigger possibilities.

the future and the past

I taught my 10-year-old son how to text last week. I figured it was "time". It took him about 2.3 seconds to learn, of course. By the time he had played with the new phone (it's not his, it's the home phone) for about 10 minutes, he had installed a photo of BB as wallpaper, and entered three contacts (Kaiden, Mom, Dad).

Yesterday evening, John and I were in the kitchen, grinding spices and julienning onions respectively. Red Lentil Dhal was on the menu. I knew Grant wouldn't eat it, so I offered him the choice of grilled cheese sandwiches or cheese and crackers (which we would all have with our soup).

Suddenly, my phone chimed. I read the message, and sat down to reply. For the next 10 minutes or so, Grant and I had a conversation via text messaging, even though we were in the same house! I'd see him sitting on the couch, cross-legged, the phone in his hands and a look of concentration on his face. A few minutes later, I'd wash my hands, sit in the kitchen chair, and start tapping the keyboard. It was like having our own private conversation in our little house!

What follows is a transcription of the text conversation between Grant and me. It may not seem as hilarious to you as it does to me, but here it is anyway for your entertainment:

hellom mom may i have grild chease for dinner?
p.s. cani also have cereal with them

GriLled cheese aok!
dubliner or cheddar?

1 whole cheder, 1/2 dubliner.what about cereal? can i have cereal to?

Ok but only if u try 3bites of soup. please??? and if also if u use the correct version of the word *to*
check your last msg to me.

Which version of the word*to*? I will try 1 bite of soup. If I like it, I will have 2 more. then I will have cereal.

No deal. sorry. :) at the end u should have the word *too* as in *also*.
love u!

OK! Love you too! 'Bye.

:)


After dinner, I found him on the floor, writing a pencil-and-paper message to his brother. In runes.

coloring mandalas with my boys on a snowy sunday morning

"Only gradually did I discover what the mandala really is: 'Formation, Transformation, Eternal Mind’s eternal recreation'. And that is the self, the wholeness of the personality, which if all goes well is harmonious, but which cannot tolerate self-deceptions” (MDR 195-196).
-Carl G. Jung

The Master of the Mandala quotes Mephistopheles!

Faust [inspired]. Good! Gripping it, I feel new strength arise,
My breast expands. On, to the great emprise!
Mephistopheles. When you at last a glowing tripod see,
Then in the deepest of all realms you'll be.
You'll see the Mothers in the tripod's glow,
Some of them sitting, others stand and go,
As it may chance. Formation, transformation,
Eternal Mind's eternal re-creation.
Images of all creatures hover free,
They will not see you, only wraiths they see.
So, then, take courage, for the danger's great.
Go to that tripod, do not hesitate,
And touch it with the key!

Grant's:


In the Preface of the book that Ursen gave to Bennett for his 9th birthday, the author/artist says: "When coloring these mandalas children intuitively know what to do: they easily choose a design they like and the colors they want to use. By the time we are adults, most of us have lost this spontaneity and often ask: what should I do? My answer is to forget your 'shoulds'."

Bennett's:


While forgetting my shoulds, I also shunned my duties and ignored my lists. I had hot coffee, a kitchen table littered with colored pencils, and my two boys. 'Twas lovely.

Mine:


I was amazed not only by the meditative state-of-mind I found myself in, but also by the lines of communication that were suddenly opened up between myself, Grant, and Bennett. We talked about life, the universe, and everything in a way we never had before. Maybe it's because they're getting older, (and therefore, let's face it, more interesting to talk to!), but I have no doubt that some of it was due to the magic of the mandala.

After our mandalas were cut out and taped to the walls, G and B walked to the Farm Crest by themselves for the first time (in the snow!), and bought a dozen eggs.

There's a correlation there, I swear.

growing up is hard to do

I left my 10-year old son home alone (his brother was spending the night with a friend) for about half an hour today while my friend Elise drove me to my car. For the second Friday in a row, I had managed to lock my keys in the car. For the second Friday in a row, a friend bailed me out. Never mind the hows and the whys.

Before leaving the house, I hugged him quickly, told him to practice piano while I was gone, and of course, as always, no computer. He's a good kid. I trust him. I know it is impossible for him to lie to me. He wears guilt on his face like a caricature.

But today, I heard it in his voice. After successfully retrieving my car, and feeling a newfound sense of optimism, I called to check in with Grant.

- Hey, kiddo, I just called to tell you I'm on my way home.
- Ok. Did you get the car?
- Yep. I think I'll stop by Boriello's on the way home and get us a pizza to have during the movie.
- I'd rather have Blackjack.
- Well, I'd like Boriellos's.
- Oh, well.... I guess that's ok with me. Hey, will you call me when you get there?
- Sure, Bug. Talk to you in a little bit.
- Ok, Mom. Bye!
- Bye.

Suddenly, I just knew. The way a witch knows it's Samhain. The way my grandmother knew my father. The way you know without my insulting insertion of italicized adjectives or adverbs.

I've done this before: known things. Mostly with rather exhausting consequences. But this time, it's my own child, and it feels vastly different. I am in control. I know exactly what to do.

Dial up Blackjack. Drive straight home. Don't call.

And then there's that moment when you realize that you're no longer Sally in The Cat in the Hat. You're the mother. And you want the ending to be very, very different.

He intercepted me in the only-area-in-our-westside-bungalow-that-could-vaguely-be-called-a hallway with a hug. The kind of hug that says, "Hi Mom! I'm so glad you're home," while muttering, "Oh, please, please, stop right here... please don't go any further..."

I peered over his head, into the dusk-tinted living room, to the top of the bookcase where my MacBook should be. It wasn't. In the sternest, yet calmest voice I think I have ever managed, I asked, "So, where's my computer?" He hung his head, and stepped aside. I walked straight through the living room towards the faint bluish glow of radiation, reflected on the beige carpet, the orange walls and the back of the recliner. I picked up my computer, returned it to the bookshelf, and said, "Get your shoes on and get in the car."
"Where are we going?"
"Don't ask. Just do it."

I've never seen him move so quickly to comply with an order. On the short drive to pick up our pizza, I asked him why. His pure and heartfelt confession came spilling over to me in the dark from the back seat.

Through sobs and sniffles, he related to me how his desire to play Battle for Wesnoth had led him to "disobey" me. After his story, I really wanted to say something about him not taking responsibility for his own actions! But I couldn't.

I understood.

We talked about addiction, about feeling out of control, about how awful it feels, about solutions. It's so much less threatening for a boy to talk to his mama from the back seat of a car, I think. I let him know the consequences would come later. I actually think I heard him say something like, "Yes, Mom."

He understood.

I made him give the man behind the counter our name. I made him carry the pizza. I didn't open the car door for him when he asked for my help. Once we were home and safely inside the kitchen, I looked him square in the face and said, "Here's the deal. No staying home alone for awhile; everywhere I go, you are going with me. No computer all weekend. On Monday, you can use the computer, but no Battle for Wesnoth until a date that you decide on, and I agree to. Got that?"
"Yeah."
"Good, now repeat it to me."

Which he did, accurately, to the very last word, while successfully interchanging the i's and you's. Without prompting, he went straight to his own calendar (we hung it up just a week ago), came back, and said, "January 15th. Is that ok?" I said I thought it was perfect.

- One last question, Bug.
- What?
- Do you want to tell Dad?
- Not right now.
- Ok. He'll be home in a few minutes. Let's make it like a party in here!

After that, I didn't need to tell him a thing. He put the pizza in the oven, and set the oven to 250. He put his shoes and coat away. He cleaned off the coffee table (no small feat) and laid out 3 plates. With napkins! John arrived home. Grant gave him a big hug, and asked him what he wanted to drink. After he had poured the juice and set the pizza on the coffee table, he asked us each what kind we wanted, and served it up.

The Two Towers began, the three of us snuggled up on the couch together.

It was, perhaps, an over-eager and childish attempt at atonement. Yet it was also natural and beautiful and mature. We crossed into new territory today. I can't believe I get the privilege of watching my son grow into a man.

a free grocery store without any meat

School has begun in earnest. For all of us. The mornings are chilly, the afternoons warm. Camping requires every piece of clothing. I have had a hard time in 2009 accepting the onset of autumn. Most years, it is a welcome change; this year, not so much.

I am no longer free to get on my pink Cruiser at any time of the day, and pedal to the garden. Now, the garden has become an errand, a location that we "stop by" on our way to someplace else.

Nevertheless, yesterday, on our way home from Up (an absolute DELIGHT!), we dropped in on the Old Colorado City Community Garden to inspect our plot. The first thing to catch my eye were the pumpkins! In July, they were nearly invisible, green-striped globes hidden by monster-sized leaves; now, they were bursts of orange through withering brown. Next - the Brussels sprouts! Petite little adorable things.... they make such a satisfying *snap* when removed from the stalk. Finally - the tomatoes. Now... that whole idea about pulling a ripe tomato off the vine and simply biting into it has no appeal to me whatsoever. But leaning over our six tomato bushes, inhaling, and reaching in for the prize, is like some kinda magic.

As my sons and I were harvesting (yellow beans, purple beans, onions, beets, broccoli, carrots, several varieties of peppers, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, basil, thyme):

Me: This is better than the grocery store.
Bennett: Yeah, it's like a free grocery store without any meat.

Tonight, I turned this....


into this.

i'm playing the trombone!

So there I am, standing in the kitchen trying to clear off some counter space so I will have room to prepare the lasagne that I've been planning on making now for about a week. It's that after school time, when I make sure the boys have had a snack, and then Grant buries his nose in a book and Bennett wanders outside with a pocketknife and a stick.

I knew Grant was having his first band practice that day, and I also knew that he was all set on playing the flute. Or so he told me. But on this particular afternoon, Grant wandered into the kitchen, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey kiddo. Did you have band today? How'd the flute playing go?
Grant: Oh no Mom, I'm not playing the flute; I'm playing the trombone!

I just started laughing... poor kid, he thought I was laughing at him. It was just so unexpected, and the instant visual of my firstborn in the living room with a slide trombone in his hand just cracked me up! Parenting is an adventure, and you just never really know where it is going to take you.

After I calmed down, he explained to me that the band teacher had pulled out the instruments and let the kids try them all. (Thank god the piggy flu hasn't hit quite yet, I suppose, but still... eewww). Grant said he couldn't make a single sound come out of the flute, but "I can do this really well!" and he puckered his lips and made that raspberry sound we use on babies' bellies. I'm sure there's a more technical term for it.

Yeah, upon hearing him, I laughed again, realizing that the trombone really is the perfect instrument for him. I just wonder how he's going to get it to and from school on his bicycle.

bennettism #101

In an honestly frustrated, nearly angry voice: "But I just don't get it, why is it named after a magazine?!"

Bennett - while discussing whether or not we should go see Battle of the Smithsonian this afternoon.

Grandma's influence on my children will be everlasting. At our house, they read Horrible Harry and Harry Potter; at Grandma's house, they read The New Yorker, Tintin, National Geographic, and, yes, Smithsonian..

number 12

Today, 4/20/09, at 4:20 PM, the IV machine beep-beeped for the last time. I thought I would cry, but I didn't. The boys were all there, I had had a good two-hour nap in the chair, and I just wanted the hell out at that point. I told the nurses no offense, but I never wanted to see them again. (I'm sure they've never heard THAT one before!)

When John and I arrived this morning at 9:15 AM, I was weepy without end. Brownie, 92-year-old Brownie, who volunteers in oncology, who brings me warm blankets and hot lunch and cold applesauce, and, when asked the secret to a long life doesn't hesitate when she answers: "I guess I just don't worry very much"....... anyway, Brownie was the first to say good morning, and unfortunately she got the brunt of my didn't-get-enough-sleep-last-night tears.

Gunda took my weight and blood pressure, and Susan drew my blood. That hour and a half wait for the lab reports was one of the longest of my life. Luckily, all was well, and my twelfth chemo infusion was under way. After some IV Pepcid, steroid, and Benadryl, the last bag of Taxol was hung. At that point, I knew that freedom from having my port poked was a mere three hours away. I slept through most of it, thanks to the Benadryl.

I became particularly close to one nurse, Anne. She was the witness to several of my breakdowns, as well as the one who broke the news to me that Matt, a 20-something young man I sat next to on occasion, had died. When she hugged me on the way out today, I did shed a few tears, and told her that I couldn't have done it without her.

That evening, Grant, Bennett, John, and I ate sopapillas from La Casita and drank Ibarra Mexican Hot Chocolate around the fire pit, each making a little celebratory, ceremonial toast. Then Grant and Bennett light sabered around the backyard. How I love watching them become Jedi in their minds and bodies and souls. It was after 9 PM before we finally came in; if you know me, letting my kids stay up that late on a school night is virtually unheard of! But I've learned a lot, and one of the things I've learned is that special events allow us all to break the rules. I've also learned how easy it is to take a sick day (thanks Klayton and Suzanne!), and that I should do it more often.

So I've come to end of this chapter, and am going to close the book for awhile. There will be more..... radiation, hormone therapy, lab tests for ever and ever, but I'm letting all that go for now. At least for the couple three weeks until radiation begins.

For now, here's a toast to 82%! According the stats, I have an 82% chance of living 10 years with no relapse. I'm going to make sure and take Brownie's advice, and not worry about the other 18%!

At about 9:15 PM, 12 hours after arriving in oncology this morning, we popped the final balloon:

earth hour

inhaling apricot

bye-bye nine!

I'm ashamed to admit that my first thought upon opening my eyes this morning and reentering the world of light and life was not, "Hey, it's my son's tenth birthday!!!" but rather it was, "Oh, chemo."

I lay there for a short while. After I had slowly crawled out of my own ego, John and I walked downstairs and sang Grant awake.

Later, after taking the boys to school, Brandy drove me to chemo. It was, thankfully, uneventful. Grandma came over for Chinese food and cake. At the end of the night, Grant popped balloon number nine. He's no longer nine. I'm no longer stuck at nine. These two events, his birthday and my chemo, will be inextricably linked in my memory for as long as I live.

he says he doesn't want drawing lessons, but............

he's always so pleased with himself after a lesson (he's only had two so far). Later, of course, he does the requisite complaining about his "homework", but then I see his face after he is done, and hear him say, "Dad! Come! Look!"

The pride is practically measurable.

I know he loves to draw, and so I ignore his complaints. You may think I am ignoring my child's needs, but I will tell you that I am doing just the opposite. I am listening to his whole body, not just his words. The sense of accomplishment he feels at the end comes from being pushed to face his insecurities, and it is up to me to do the pushing. It's a fine line, I know.

But isn't there something you wish YOUR parents had pushed you to do? And don't you regret it now?

Perhaps some day, Bennett will be as good as his teacher.

where's sue?

(hint: look for the bald head!)

Grant and Bennett are on either side of me, and John is next to Bennett. Click on the photo for a closer view.

Want more cool photos from the latest Yogic Spiral? Here you go.

on the existence of santa claus

It's Christmas Eve. The candles are lit. The cookies are out. Neighbors and friends have dropped by. The children are asleep. The stockings are stuffed. The only thing left to do is bring in the sled and the skis and the backpacks from the garage and put them under the tree. Eat the cookies (leave some crumbs), drink the milk (but not all of the milk). Don't forget the carrots outside. Most importantly, make sure any and all evidence of parental Santa-playing is taken out to the trash.

This year, however, it's a bit more complicated. There are letters to be answered.

My sons have left notes for Santa to wake them up when he gets here--so they can see him. This year, they have put on Mr. Claus the burden of proof. They have also admonished him to not forget the animals. And they have questions. They just don't seem to trust jolly old St. Nick as much as they used to. "Do you have duplicates from time-jumping?" the letter asks.  Next to the cookies, they have also left a blank sheet of paper and a pencil for Santa to write them back.

The myth that is Santa was fully put to the test this year by our two sons. So far, his reputation is holding up, but not without some rumors. 

A rumor came home from school with my older son.  Apparently, he said, some of the kids were saying it's just your parents who leave the presents under the tree.  He's not quite buying it yet.  Grant is intrigued and fairly convinced by the seemingly scientific NORAD sleigh specs. (you'll have to click on the far right building to get them). He has reasoned that there are multiple Santas, but this has not shaken his absolute faith in the man himself. He thought he was terribly clever for discovering all on his own that cloning is responsible for Santa's dopplegangers.  Well, either that or time travel.

As for Bennett, this year he noticed that the Santa from one year's photo doesn't quite match up to the one in another. He brought two pictures from where they were perched, and forced me to look at them. "See?!" he demanded. "Hmm.. why do you think that is?" I asked. He didn't answer...... just kept staring at them.

Their powers of observation and discernment are coming into play. They are looking at the world with new eyes; eyes that see not only the stark red and white of Santa's suit, but that will soon see the subtler shades of pink. Their minds are teetering between reality and fantasy. Accepting answers given to them, perhaps, but with a twinge of doubt. They are struggling and searching for the truth in a way that is constructivist and meaningful. This awakening has been fascinating to witness.  I want them to figure it out for themselves. I will not tell them that there is or is not a Santa Claus. I'm just going to patiently wait until the year they figure it out for themselves. The way I see it, they are gaining the skills that will serve them well in a world that will often attempt to feed them false prophets and propaganda.

Last year, one of my favorite Santa conversations happened while G and B were getting tucked into their bunk beds:

Doubting B the Younger (from below): So how DOES Santa get to all those houses all over the world in one night anyway?

All-knowing G the Elder (looking down from above): "Duuuhhhh...... He's MAGIC!?"

It's not quite that easy this year. But the magic is still present. Neither of them seems to ever question how reindeer can fly. That just seems to be a given.

I have to go now. NORAD says Santa will be here soon. And if I want him to answer those letters, I better well be fast asleep!

triskaidekaphilia

He loved her
for almost
everything
she was

& she decided
that was enough
to let him stay
for a very long time

Today, we have been married for 13 years. My parents' marriage broke up in its 12th year. My father's second marriage broke up in its 12th year. My brother's marriage broke up in its 12th year. I'm not saying we're special somehow, or better in any way. I'm just saying that 13 is now a very special and significant number to me.

I have never really been afraid of the number 13, but today I am truly in love with it.

obsession

The other night, as my husband and I were divvying up the evening's chores, he chose the laundry and I chose the kitchen. After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the table, I came into the living room and found him playing with his English ships. He said, (immediately in his defense because I was probably giving him "that" look):

"I folded the Pirates."

I looked over at the chair, and, indeed, the clothes were neatly stacked. But it was still funny. We couldn't stop laughing. And I still chuckle when I think about it.


There's a 100-point tournament this Sunday. They've already spent hours putting their fleets together. I have to admit, it really is a pretty cool game.

autumnal equinox

"Today, we wake up in the Summer, and go to bed in the Fall."

-Grant, at the dinner table, during a discussion of the equinox. I thought it was another one of those brilliant insights from one of my children, but it turns out that's what their music teacher told them today in school. I like her!