Georgin

Ptolemy woke up crying, "The other baby was mean!  He got me!"  Sounds like a scary dream.  As he continued to talk about the dream, I pieced together the scenario.  Ptolemy and a mean boy named Georgin went to the church and threw rocks.  Georgin was mean and he looked like a monster.  He did not have green hair.  (Not sure why that is an important detail.)  I'm glad Tolly woke up before Georgin got him any worse!  Hopefully that nightmare will teach Ptolemy not to vandalize the church with mean monster boys.

More likely, it will teach him that he doesn't want to go to sleep or be away from me.  He has been uneasy today.  If I leave the room, he says, "Come back in here!  Let's stay in our kitchen!"  I had him in the car and told him I just had to run something into Coco's house and I would be right back.  He said, "OK, but I will be worried."  I wonder if he was worried Georgin would come and get him?  Boy, if Georgin ever visits MY dreams, I'm going to put him on the naughty step!

Waking Up

Waking Xanthe up for piano this morning when her body thought it was 5:30 AM did not bode well for Allegretto or Chante Arabe, both melodic little victims of Xanthe's fatigue.  Casualties also included the C Major scale, a Sausage McMuffin and most of Freestone's violin lesson, during which Xanthe writhed around on the teacher's staircase complaining of thirst.  Yikes!

As much as I loathe daylight savings in the AM, it's wonderful in the evening when the extra light makes me believe spring could really be here.  It's invigorating to imagine that someday a warm wind will blow over our bare arms, flowers will bloom and we will be unable to find our baseball mitts, as opposed to being unable to find our basketball jerseys.  Yes, spring is in the air!

I had to snap a picture on the fly when I saw this boy running along Main Street barefoot in his karate uniform.  As he bounded through traffic, he captured the essence of that first hint of spring. It's the first deep breath you take after a long, dark winter.  It's that first hit of euphoria when you remember that the snow melts and temperatures rise...every year.  It's the first glimmer of possibility, the first awakened memory of a deep dive into a clear pool, the first realization that it's time to wake up and sing!

It makes you want to kick off your shoes and run barefoot through traffic toward something new...a karate lesson, perhaps.

The '80's Are Back

I don't know how they did it, but the '80's came back.  These pictures don't do Ari's ensemble justice, but she looked like a young, untroubled, Mormon Cyndi Lauper when she left for school this morning.  She just needs a few more piercings and some bangs.  Maybe a pair of jelly shoes and a couple of fluorescent accessories.  Darn, I wish I had kept my hot pink Guess? sweatshirt.  It was about all I had to mark me as an '80's girl.  I have always been far too lazy to subscribe fully to the fashion du jour.  I pretty much look the same as I always did, minus the "Tender Teal" blue eye shadow that I thought I couldn't leave the house without as a youth.  I "Guess?" I was more eighties than I thought with my make-up choices.  Hey, I was a material girl, and girls just wanna have fun.

I hope Ari has fun today.  She and her friends made a pact to dress up fancy and play-act being popular girls.  (OK, that's how you know your daughter isn't popular.  Just sayin'.)  She was so excited about dressing up, she "couldn't concentrate on practicing" this morning.  Fingers crossed that pretending to be popular was a popular concept among Ari's friends and not just a rogue Ari idea.  There's nothing worse than going to school dressed like Madonna and having it backfire on you.  I know;  I went to school in 1985 in a pair of 501's that I had Rit dyed bright yellow.  Midway through the day, all the bleach and dye started taking its toll and my pants literally disintegrated off my body.  I had to hide the giant holes in the rear by wearing a sweater tied around my waist.  That worked until the pants just started peeling off in shreds.

Rit dye is powerful stuff.  So is peer pressure.  The 501 disaster might have been the last time I tried to be cool.  For Ari, it's her first time trying to be cool.  Here's to no disintegration!

Life Is Sweet

Sweet:  Ruby's cell cake for extra credit in science.  Have you ever eaten a cake decorated with mitochondria?  Ptolemy's reaction to the cake was, "What in the woyold?!"  (translation: world).  He tried hard not to eat it.

Sweet:  Ari and Freestone making cookies together.  A chocolate cake mix, two eggs, chocolate chips and 1/2 cup oil.  Easy.  There are no pictures because the cookies were soooo good.  They went fast.

Not So Sweet:  The cookies were meant to make the kids forget about Ward Pie Night, but they were SO easy to make, the kids had their coats on, ready to go, right on time.  They forgot nothing.

Ultra Sweet:  Cookies AND pie in one night.

Even Sweeter:  Ptolemy bypassed the chocolate chips this morning and went straight for the hard stuff.  A five pound bag of sugar, poured into a bowl in the pantry and eaten right out of his hands.  Can you say HEAVEN?

While a bowl full of sugar might be heaven for Ptolemy (forget the spoonful; that's for sissies), other things are sweet to me. The feel of Tziporah's tiny meatloaf-sized body in my arms or Xanthe's silky hair when I blow-dry it, the sound of Golda's flute trickling down the stairs or Ruby's guitar wafting up through the air vents, the sight of my handsome husband tying his tie in the morning or tucking kids in at night.  The smell of fresh flowers on the table or dinner in the oven.  Sweet isn't just for the taste buds.  The nectar of life is meant to be enjoyed by all the senses, and there's no better time than when the promise of spring fills the air with possibility.

"That it will never come again is what makes life sweet."
 - Emily Dickinson

Chocolate Factory

If anyone asks what it's like to have seven kids, please refer them to this video.  You've all seen it;  the episode of I Love Lucy where they're working at the chocolate factory.   Yes, I am metaphorically AND literally shoving chocolates into my mouth, hat and bra to keep up.  And I'm laughing just as hard at myself as I am at Lucy and Ethel.  I'm not the only one using chocolate as medication, either.  I found Ptolemy pounding back chocolate chips in the pantry, knowing that he was way down on my list of kids to monitor during those crazy minutes before the kids leave for school.  He takes full advantage of my inattention to basically do whatever he wants to.  I fear for the future with this kid.  He knows how to work the system and he already uses chocolate to solve problems.

At the store, I got one of those giant carts with the fire truck on the front.  We were quite a spectacle, with Tziporah screaming her "newborn goat" scream in the cart and Ptolemy waving his arms out the sunroof of the fire truck like he was standing at the prow of the Titanic, wind in his hair.  We got to the bulk food bins, where I usually don't go, and Ptolemy shouted, "Whoa!  What's THIS!?!?"  Rows and rows of candy!!  I just had to get a single gumdrop for Ruby's science assignment, but in the time it took me to bag and label it, Ptolemy had leaped out of the firetruck and crammed his mouth full of chocolate from the the nearest available bin.  He enthusiastically exclaimed through the chocolate, "This is yummy, Mom!"  I was tempted to say loudly, "Let's go pay for that chocolate you just ate!!," and then beeline it to the nearest exit.  I wasn't sure how to weigh the offending chocolate, so I just rushed the firetruck to the checkout, hoping Ptolemy wasn't caught on video pillaging the bulk food bins.

When we got home, I swear I pulled a muscle in my finger trying to open a pudding with one hand while I nursed the baby.  Now everyone is fed and I have a few minutes to sit down and figure out what to do with all the metaphorical chocolate stashed in my hat and - oh my gosh, I'm supposed to be at the shop in five minutes!   Guess I'll shove some chocolates in my mouth and go!  Aaaggh!  Where are the M&M's??

You Could Win

There is a drawing where one of the prizes is a $100.00 gift certificate at Love Boxes.  Not many people have entered, so you have a good chance of winning!  Comment here.

Easter Egg Info

I mentioned this to the book club email list and the family a few months back, but I thought I should make sure the word is out that we're not doing the Easter egg hunt this year behind the school.  We'll be out of town that day!

I know some people plan on it, since it's been at the same time/place every year.  If anyone wants to take over and have it this year, please do!  It's pretty darn easy to pull off.  We do stuff 50 dozen extra eggs because, well, that's just how the math works when some kids are super fast at collecting eggs.  :)  If you want to be in charge of it this year, please let me give you a BUNCH of eggs I have.

Traditions are what makes life meaningful, but I have to admit, it's been liberating not having to think about the hunt this year.  There's a twinge of sadness at breaking the streak, but life has to be elastic or you can become beholden to the very things that were created to bring happiness.  The only constant in life is change, right?  That being said, we'll see you next year at 9:00 behind the school, the Saturday before Easter.  Until then, carry on without us!

The Nutmobile

We got a new van, and it happened so fast, Genesis 1:1 keeps popping into my head.  Creating a world is a bigger job than buying a new car, but the irreverent comparison amuses me.  For Scott, this task had several steps.

1.  Scott took the old van in for some free work related to a recall notice.  The auto shop found $3,500 worth of things wrong with the van.  A plan started to form in Scott's head.  (He's a thinker.  All his plans start out slowly with a lot of groundwork.  When we paint, Scott preps carefully and does a beautiful job. Me, I suddenly choose a new color while standing in the hardware store checkout line and six hours later, a room in our house is somewhat sloppily transformed.) 

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

2.  Scott texted his wife about the three thousand bucks worth of repairs and told her that he just wanted her and the kids to be safe...thus planting the new car seed in her mind.  Then he rested, which God never did until the seventh day, but Scott needed time for the new car seed to germinate.  Because if the wife isn't on board, you might as well throw in the towel.

And the evening and the morning were the second day.

3.  Scott and the world wide web teamed up to find out which van was the best and where he could get it for half of what other people would pay.  He found some vans for sale at places that just happened to be on the way to court, so it wouldn't make sense not to just go look at them.  Right?

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

4.  Scott's wife got a text with links to car descriptions.  She got a phone call from Scott, who was test driving a Honda Odyssey.  He talked about GPS and side air bags and miles and warranties and blue books and ratings.  His wife, in a failed attempt to sound intelligent and engaged said, "What color is it?"

Scott found an even cheaper Honda Odyssey for sale.  It had a sunroof, and he had looked under the hood and found it to be very shiny, which had to be a good sign.  The fact that the van was for sale behind a pawn shop on a seedy street was not a deterrent.  It had a lot of electronic stuff which Scott kept mentioning to his wife, hoping that she'd suddenly take on a completely different personality, one that appreciated car upgrades.  She just kept saying, "I trust you and I love the heated seats.  Black is a good color, and if you say the engine is shiny enough and you think we can afford it, buy it."

 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

5.  Scott discovered that the car salesman was the husband of one of our favorite ballet teachers and the dad of two of our VERY favorite Arabian dancer boys!  So he bought the car.  It's not what you know, it's who you know, which works out for us because we know nothing except for the fact that if your sons are exceedingly polite and affable and your wife is an excellent ballet teacher, the car you are selling must be a very good car.  Plus, the salesman gave Scott an Arabian Dance discount and Scott is all about discounts.  He brought the van home to wild excitement from everyone.  Ruby ran to get the Nutcracker DVD, the only DVD we have, because...drumroll please...the van has a DVD player!!  Scott drove everyone around watching The Nutcracker and rolling the windows up and down.

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

6.  Then came the problem of selling the old van.  Hours after Scott's wife listed it on KSL, a young man came to look at it.  The asking price was $5,900, but Scott hastened to inform him that we would take $4800.  Scott likes deals so much, he wanted to make sure the guy got a good one from us.  Scott's wife reminded him that he had to be at flute soon, so he left her to negotiate.  He later texted her, "We were early to flute.  I had time to negotiate the price of our van down another thousand dollars. lol."  The wife ended up selling the van to a different guy who offered more money.  He loaded it up on a flatbed and drove away, leaving her with a check that may or may not clear.  (She is very optimistic - not a worrier.  I know, I know, it will catch up with her someday.)  But the check cleared.  Ha! 

And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

7.  After vehemently making it clear to the family that the DVD player was not to be used except on long road trips, Scott's wife was seen backing out of her driveway with The Nutcracker already playing.  She was seen aimlessly driving around town with no objective because Ptolemy was quietly watching the Fight Scene in the way back and Tziporah was asleep and the heated seat felt so luxurious, it would be crazy to get out of the car.  Given the van's provenance and because there is rarely a time in the car when The Nutcracker isn't on, the Wife dubbed the van The Nutmobile.  It's a good name because it also alludes to the nut who drives it.  The one who, just last week, picked up Golda and Ruby from modern and drove to Charity's house to drop her off like usual, even though Charity wasn't at dance that night and therefore, not in the car.  The same nutty driver who yesterday held her car keys up to her ear when her phone rang.  (Please don't tell anyone about that.)  The moniker also refers to the nuts in the back seats, whether they're screaming, changing their clothes, texting their friends or hanging out the windows.  There is a whole variety of nuts to choose from.

Scott's wife was endlessly grateful for the new van and for a husband who takes such good care of his nuts.  (couldn't resist the double entendre.)

And Scott saw that it was good.  And the evening and the morning were the seventh day, but Scott didn't rest because, even with the new van, he still had to do half the driving and it was time for ballet.

Tolly and Tizzy

How is Ptolemy doing with a new baby in the house?  He thinks she is very amusing.  I'm sure he doesn't realize how much he has been affected by sharing the spotlight with someone, but the rest of us notice.  For example, Ptolemy has begun referring to himself in the third person.  If he hears us discussing a plan, he'll say, "Ptolemy doesn't want to stay here.  Ptolemy needs to go with you!"  If we laugh at something funny he says, he chuckles, "Ptolemy was funny.  He was like..." and then he repeats his joke.  We all try not to gush too much over tiny Tizzy while Tolly is vying for our attention, but you never know when he's going to feel slighted.  Yesterday I said to him, "Ptolemy, get me a diaper and we can change Tziporah."

He replied with a pout, "Ptolemy has a bum too!"  Every part of Tolly's little body feels betrayed!  He's a good sport, though, and I'm sure Tolly and Tizzy will be best friends someday...as soon as Tiz is big enough to understand how cool her big bro is.

Fifteen Minutes

Making pillows for "class store" in between working on the "name art."

Araceli has more independence in her pinky finger than your average ten-year-old has in her whole body.  It scares me, but it's also exciting to watch.  Yesterday, Ari decided she wanted to walk from her cello lesson to Studio C where Golda and Xanthe would be picked up from ballet.  Her plan would save me an extra trip downtown and it was only a few blocks.  I hesitantly agreed, but it turned out that I was extremely nervous as the time neared.  I looked out the window at precisely the time Ari would be traipsing along a busy street with her cello on her back, and it had started to snow.  Blizzard-y, wet snow.  I vowed never to let Ari talk me into one of her plans again, but I know that's not realistic, and when Scott brought the girls home, Ari didn't mention the snowstorm.  She was just fine.

She's better than fine these days, actually.  With a silvery smile, she proclaimed last night, "Fourth grade just got awesome!"  It's because of the name signs, she explained.  Ari wrote a friend's name on a paper and decorated it in an artistic way.  Then another friend wanted her name done, and another, until Ari finally created a sign-up sheet for anyone who wanted their name done in art.  Almost everyone signed up!  Of all the projects Ari's colorful mind has come up with, I have never seen one make her so happy.  Her enthusiasm as she worked on each child's name was almost palpable. 

When I was in fifth grade, there was a golden time period when French braids were all the rage, and I knew how to do them!  I was very popular every recess, french braiding everyone's hair.  It was amazing to be so needed and to have a skill so coveted.  I stretched my skill set as far as I could, first braiding, then teaching everyone else how to braid.  I guess I inadvertently tanked my own business that way, but it was worth the warmth of the spotlight.  Eventually, french braids went the way of the dodo anyway, and girls who could boondoggle took over for their fifteen minutes of fame. 

Ari's fifteen fourth grade minutes start now, with her clever little idea.  I hope the other kids like what she creates for them.  I'm crossing my fingers that we don't have a snickerdoodle moment when the kids get their name art.  Even if fourth grade happens to temporarily lose some of its awesomeness, Araceli will come out on top.  She always does.