Diary of a Wannabe Supermom

Willow

2011-11-03T12:32:00.000-05:00

This cute little girl is Willow and, for the next year, she is half ours. We finally made the plunge into horse land (and it's just as foreign to me as Neverland or Oz might be) with taking out a half lease on this dun colored American Quarter Horse.

Madeleine was half leasing a school pony (our beloved Cocoa Puff) from the stable where she lessons but, sadly, Madeleine continues to grow in both height and ability and Cocoa couldn't grow either of those ways in his older age. So, a few months ago Madeleine's trainer started looking for a small horse (Willow is only 14.3 hands) who had enough tricks up her hooves to give Madeleine room to grow, ability-wise.

I could go into the exasperating saga of how Willow went into heat after arriving at our barn (and, for your horse people, Willow seems quite mareish, even when she's not in heat, so you can imagine . . . ) and hurt her right eye badly enough that she was unrideable for a solid month, but I won't. I'll focus on the positive: she's well and she's back to work. I'm simultaneously thrilled with excitement to see my childhood horse dreams fulfilled through my daughter and terrified to enter this new, unknown world.

My Trick-or-Treaters

2011-11-02T16:46:00.000-05:00

My '80s Pop Star (too wet and rainy for the super fab '80's boots she had intended to wear):

My little soldier (he was pretty impressed with all the salutes that came his way):

Rapunzel (as represented in E's favorite movie, Tangled). How absurdly ridiculous and cute is that dumb wig?

And our little . . . um . . . I'm not sure what she is, exactly. We were all set for Caroline to wear the same dog costume that all my other kids wore when they were two-years-old (shown here on Elisabeth). But when it came time to put it on Caroline ran away and shrieked, "NO GOG! NO GOG! DON WANNA BE GOG!" I then had the ingenious idea of simply painting a dog face on her since, at this point, I just assumed she was scared of the costume. To the idea of face paint? "NO GOG! DON WANNA BE GOG!!!" At this point it was about five minutes before trick-or-treating, all my other trick-or-treaters were dressed and ready to go, so I ran upstairs and yanked the first dress I saw out of Ellie's dress up bin. Caroline saw the dress, smiled and said, "I be pincess." So, I guess she was a crown-less princess, or someone who, no matter what, gets her way.

A Kayak Ride

2011-09-02T12:46:00.000-05:00

All things are artificial, for nature is the art of God.

--Thomas Browne

On Wednesday I pushed my kayak off the sandy shore and paddled across Black Bay to the opposite shore. My eldest daughter accompanied me in a long, blue kayak, a stark contrast to my short red one. We wore jeans. Fleeces. Tennis shoes. It was cold and gray, and ode, perhaps, to our proximity to the Canadian border, a country whose very mention, fairly or not, conjures up visions of cold. It was a lengthy kayak ride considering the late afternoon hour, but the water was still and quiet, the wind having finally dissipated and moved on to a more easterly location, and it was too wonderful to do anything but paddle, then drift and then observe and take in our surroundings.

Opposite from our starting point was a Minnesota state forest. To the east a small island, with a lone inhabitant, and beyond the island, a swampish shore. To the west was a small channel, which days earlier had taken our party, by pontoon boat, into the larger areas of Lake Vermillion, but was quiet that day, with a few lone fisherman braving the cold of the weekday, and none making their way into Black Bay, on the northern most end of the lake.

Though we had seen scant boat traffic throughout the week since our arrival the Saturday prior, that Wednesday saw none. We paddled to a small rock island and floated, breathing in the smells of the lake and the pine trees and the crisp air. The slight breeze ruffled leaves on birch trees, creating a quiet, rhythmic duet with the waves licking the sides of our boats.

Eventually it was time to turn back. Dinner, overlooking the lake, was to be eaten, campfires to be made and inky, pitch black night skies with bright, glowing stars were to be enjoyed, as they had been the nights prior. But we didn't feel particularly hurried or rushed. We took our time, exploring another rock island and, eventually, paddling and drifting our way back to our home base.

The week was a great one, one with lots of excitement (tubing!) and lots of relaxing (morning coffee on the pier), but that kayak ride was a standout moment, and one I won't soon forget.

Look Who's Eleven

2011-08-26T18:57:00.000-05:00

--Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they're going to catch you in next.
Franklin P. Jones

I have managed to acknowledge all my kids on their birthdays here on this blog, give or take a day, since this blog's inception.

Until now.

Maybe, like my daughter, my blog is maturing. Growing.

We'll see. In any event, my eldest, my Madeleine, is now eleven.

Anticipation

2011-08-25T17:33:00.000-05:00

The start of the school year is so full of promise. It has yet to be marred by unmet goals, unfinished work or kids who are anything less than perfectly compliant, interested and engaged.

Reality will soon kick in (September sixth, for us), but until then I'll bask in the anticipation of what could be and, maybe, on those really fantastic home-schooling days that remind of all of why we persevere, of what will.

(Belated) Independence Day

2011-07-07T18:17:00.000-05:00

I must confess, should I be accused of romanticizing certain things that I am to talk about later in this post, that I have loved Independence Day most of my life. I mean, what's not to love: usually reliably warm weather, family, friends, relaxation, hot coals on the grill, fireworks . . . need I go on?

But now that I live here . . . now I love it even more. The town that I live in lives for Independence Day. I mean, our Civic Foundation and other village groups do a lot things throughout the year, but nothing compares to how we go all out on the fourth of July every year.

There's a parade. A festival that everyone walks up to after the parade (literally by following the tail end of the parade up). At the festival there are games, food and a dixieland band. After the festival we go to our house and do nothing. Nothing. We won't even walk inside to get a drink, instead we keep a cooler close at hand containing all our favorite beverages so we don't have to move. We grill out and, if I may say, this year's meal was ridiculously delicious. And then, of course, fireworks.

The whole day feels idyllic. Magically idyllic, as if the stresses and worries of real life are paused for one long, too-perfect day.

So, yeah. We had a great fourth, and I hope you did too!

The Madeleine Eye Roll

2011-06-23T17:07:00.000-05:00

Ah, the Madeleine eye roll. Many times have I seen it, or had it directed my way, but never have I seen it captured pictorially. This eye roll, the I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that laugh, it will be how I remember Madeleine's childhood.

And now I can prove it to her children.

Water Update: Almost One Year Later

2011-06-20T16:02:00.000-05:00

A little less than a year ago, as many of you might remember, Milwaukee fell victim to a pretty nasty storm which resulted in widespread flooding. Since then, bit by bit, we've been repairing the damage, and now, finally, our basement is done, from top to bottom. It's better than it was before, though; the old basement I merely tolerated, this one I like, and enjoy spending time in. See what you think!

On stairs, looking down, night of the flood.

On stairs, looking down, today.

Looking into main room, from foot of stairs (southwest corner), night of the flood.

Looking into the main room from foot of the stairs after stripping paneling, drywall, etc., a few weeks after the flood.

Looking into the main room from foot of the stairs today.

West wall, night of flood.

West wall today.

Northwest corner, night of flood.

Northwest corner, today.

Northeast corner, night of flood.

Northeast corner, today.

South wall, a few weeks after flood.

South wall (southeast corner), today.

View from bottom of stairs, a few weeks after flood.

View from bottom of stairs, today.

View from northeast corner (between TV and computer), today.

View from northwest corner, today.

Horse Dreams

2011-06-06T11:00:00.000-05:00

"There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man."

~Winston Churchill

I confess: I often dream of moving out of this picturesque suburb and moving north. Not too far north, but north enough for a few acres. An outbuilding.

And a horse (or two, since horses are social creatures, and need company).

Curiosity

2011-05-23T10:37:00.000-05:00

“Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.”

--Arnold Edinborough

Toddler Terror

2011-05-12T09:57:00.000-05:00

There is a reason I blog infrequently these days. Her name is Caroline.

If I turn my back for one second, she is up on the dining room table (where, usually, I keep a small tray handy with salt, pepper, sugar and a small vase of flowers), sometimes just sitting, but other times dumping piles of salt and sugar around the table. Or maybe she's scaling the windowsill adjacent to our big living room window (which she also fell off of the other night, and scored a black eye).

This girl is busy. Trouble. Peace is only attained when she is sleeping, and usually that time seems better spent on catching up with the big kids' schoolwork. Or laundry. Or collapsing on the sofa with a good book.

And now, there she is. Snack time is over, the Terror is out of her high chair (and therefore, her quasi-containment), and I must hit publish and be off!

Easter Recap, 2011

2011-04-27T18:44:00.000-05:00

As long as Joe gets a vote, I think our family will be ~~doomed~~ treated to the early (6:30 a.m.), sunrise service on Easter Sunday. Amazingly, even little Caroline adapted just fine to being woken more than two hours earlier than normal.

Our Easter morning service was, as always, moving and wonderful after a long, somber Lent and, as a special treat, we were treated to some incredibly gorgeous music thanks to our talented organist and numerous brass players (all extremely talented volunteers).

After the service we tried for our annual family picture in front of the altar. I think we'll continue the tradition if for no other reason than to prove that getting a nice family photograph with four kids is an impossible feat.

The Easter Bunny is nice enough to accommodate our early morning schedule and hold off on his deliveries until after we leave for church. That means that following the fun of church and Easter breakfast at church we have more fun to look forward to at home. Hidden Easter eggs! Baskets! Small gifts!

After we watched the kids play around with the new loot, cut Caroline off her her jelly bean feeding frenzy and drank some coffee, I started in on getting the house ready for our guests. This year I got smart and put all the kids in the basement, which meant we were only ten upstairs, and all adults.

Shortly after that, guests began to arrive and my camera fell on my list of priorities as cooking and playing with friends and family took precedence.

After lots of enjoyable hours spent sipping wine and, later, coffee with all assembled, Joe, the kids and I changed into our PJs at 7 p.m. and cuddled in to watch Tangled, one of the few movies everyone in our family enjoys.

It was, if memory serves, one of the most fun, relaxing Easters, we've had in awhile.

Caroline Eats Mud

2011-03-17T19:10:00.000-05:00

Today Caroline ate mud. On purpose. And I think she kind of liked it, which is a little too bad because the other day she put me in a position where I had to choose between catching her and preventing her from taking a nasty spill or not catching her and not preventing her from taking a nasty spill. Choosing to catch her necessitated putting my other baby, my Nikon, at risk. I chose, obviously, to catch Caroline. My Nikon, thankfully, survived the incident. My most useful, versatile lens, my 18-200 mm, on the other hand, did not.

Darn it, though, even with my non-autofocus, 50 mm she still looks good. Even with the mud all over her face.

What Caroline is like

2011-03-10T15:09:00.001-06:00

This movie will sort of give you and idea of what eighteen-month-old, high-energy Caroline is like.

We think she's a stitch.

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-09T09:20:00.000-06:00

Have a blessed, Ash Wednesday, everyone. And, for those keeping track, this is the third (or fourth?) consecutive Ash Wednesday we've had snow. Blergh.

Last year's post. Applicable this year too.

Sick Day

2011-03-03T11:23:00.000-06:00

Madeleine just now, on the upswing of the fever, etc., etc. that has been making its way through the inhabitants of our home.

Hank, exhibiting no physical symptoms, yet verbally hopping aboard the sick train, hoping he won't be questioned too strenuously by Dr. Mom.

Eighteen Months

2011-03-02T10:14:00.000-06:00

Poor Caroline. As the page turns on another month of her life, she marks the anniversary with a terrible fever and cold. Yesterday and Monday were spent lying prostrate on the sofa, propped up with pillows, tucked in with heavy blankets and, ultimately, the digital thermometer reaching a high of 103.7.

Sick or not, though, there is wisdom in those tired eyes. At the advanced age of one and one-half years, she is right there, midway between babyhood and toddlerhood. She talks (Mommy!, Dad!, high five!, toast!, milk!, bottle!, please!, diaper!, night-night!, bye-bye!, NO!, yeah, et cetera, et cetera), but grunts and cries of displeasure are common too. She self feeds, but she holds her spoon upside down. She runs boldly, but her short legs fail her, and she falls. She is aware of what life has to offer, but is frustrated with her inability to do it all.

Today there it is, a brief smile. A tentative consumption of a slice to toast. No digital read-outs of body temperature have been sought, but I have become an expert at discerning the rise and fall of body temperature simply through visual cues and touch, and her fever is decreasing. She is well enough for a brief bath. And now, she naps once again, recharging for the near day when she will be able to embrace her eighteen-month-oldishness without the handicap of a nagging fever. Until then, I'll hold her close, give her a kiss and enjoy this brief respite from the cusp of toddlerhood when Caroline is, once again, all baby.

A Necessary Follow-Up

2011-02-28T08:47:00.000-06:00

Apparently, I am not the only one on the words-mean-things bandwagon.

The Wisconsin Union Public Protest Dictionary

It's been awhile . . .

2011-02-25T13:45:00.000-06:00

The only thing lately I've been inspired to write about blog-wise is tearing this state apart right now. Emotions are hot, tensions are high and very few seem able to separate reason from emotion regarding our governor and what is going on in Madison, Wisconsin (including me, at times probably, if I'm honest with myself).

Credit: Tom Lynn of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

I have a choice: don't blog, which is the choice I have been making, or write about the budget bill already. (I suppose a third option would be write about something else entirely, but I don't want to.)

Credit: Mike De Sisti of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

I am not going to belabor what has already been said. And said. And said again. I have two thoughts I wish to convey, and then I'll be silent on the issue (well, until I'm not again, anyway).

1. Beyond what has been said about this bill, and beyond so many of the rumors and misrepresentation of certain things, what has bothered me the most is this idea that words no longer mean things. Let me preface the rest of this thought by saying I am not trying to paint with a broad brush; I do not pretend to know whether these sentiments are widely embraced by those protesting in Madison, and for the sake of what I am about to say, it really doesn't matter.

Credit: Gary Porter of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Dictator. Hitler. Mubarak. Democracy. These words, these people, they have meanings. They have actual definitions. I consider the idea that someone would categorize a popularly elected governor a dictator an assault on the English language. The actual definitions of dictator, according to the Oxford English Dictionary are as follows:

1. A chief magistrate with absolute power who was appointed in an emergency.

Governor Scott Walker has neither absolute power nor was he appointed in an emergency. For crying out loud, he was popularly elected in a high turnout election with fifty-two percent of the vote.

2. An absolute ruler, usually temporary or irregular, of a state; especially one who suppresses or succeeds a democratic government.

Governed by the laws of this state and being, in fact, only one part of a multi-faceted legislative body, it is clearly inaccurate to label Walker as an absolute ruler and, as for the rest of the definition, I should think it unnecessary to point out that Walker is neither temporary or irregular, nor has he suppressed nor has he succeeded a democratic government.

3. A person exercising absolute authority of any kind or in any sphere; a domineering person.

The OED provides an illustration to show what this definition is getting at: The dictators of behavior, dress and politeness. Even in this sense, and we all know this wasn't what the sign holders were getting at; they meant it in a political sense, it's a reach.

4. A person who gives dictation to a writer or recording machine.

I only included this because I am nothing if not thorough.

I don't know why I let this stuff bother me. Really, I don't. But, really, I would feel better seeing signs saying, "Walker is a Jerk!" or "Walker is a (insert pejorative of choice) because while I might disagree, at least it's clear what you're saying, and it also shows me, and others, that you have a good grasp of the language we're using to communicate, which is a good thing. I have to confess, I have spent an inordinate amount of time stewing about some of these signs, and not because I disagree with them, but because of the abuses these poor, misused words are taking.

Credit: Tom Lynn of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

2. Like I said, I'm not going to get into particulars, but I would feel remiss if I didn't state, clearly and unequivocally, that I support our governor. He has stood fast in the face of enormous pressure, and I feel it is the least I can do to publicly support him here on my little corner of the internet.

There. I feel better.

Super Bowl

2011-02-05T15:00:00.000-06:00

Remember this? It's really something when a thing we believe is possible, but unlikely, actually happens. The feelings of disbelief and excitement are almost unmatchable, no matter what the occasion.

Hank and Packer Pro Bowl safety Nick Collins.

Tomorrow the Packers will play the Pittsburgh Steelers. It will be their third Super Bowl appearance in my lifetime, but the first in which I have been a true, informed fan. Sure, in the 1996 season I knew who Brett Favre was, and that I sort of wanted the Packers to win, but my night would not have been too different had the Patriots ended up pulling out a win.

Hank and Packers wide receiver James Jones.

But this year? Oh, this year is very different. I've watched every second of Packer football these past few seasons. I feel like I know these guys. See Nick Collins up there? He sealed the deal against the Bears with a late interception on the final drive of the game we went to in January; that victory ensured our playoff berth. James Jones? He had that unforgettably ridiculous catch in the end zone against Atlanta in the playoffs.

Hank and Packers Pro Bowl tackle Chad Clifton.

To suggest that I am excited about tomorrow is an understatement. I am excited. And nervous. Apprehensive. I want to win. A lot.

Hank and Packer running back John Kuhn.

Even though I'll be terribly disappointed if we lose, this season has been really fun. We weren't supposed to even make the playoffs, and now here we are, down in snowy Arlington, Texas, preparing for the biggest football game of the year.

Go, Pack, go!

Unspeakable

2011-02-04T11:56:00.000-06:00

People, as a general rule, don't lead with their failings. We don't highlight them. Most people, I would say, hide those failings behind stories of success, stories of well-behaved children and academic and vocational accomplishment; we give others only a peek beneath the veneer upon close acquaintance.

Today I lost my temper. Hank delivered the final blow to a constitution that was already compromised due to two solid days of ill-behavior on the kids part. I gave Hank a chance. Go to your room. Now. It was an offer of escape. Temporary, yes, but doing so would have saved him forever, in this case, from me unleashing my anger in a torrent of ugly words.

He did not immediately go. He stood there, belligerently, and, ultimately, he stomped up to his room in dramatic fashion, meant to convey my wrongness and his rightness.

This should be an unspeakable event. I was wrong. I acted badly. He is eight, and I am not.

I forgave myself easily; this post is not wallowing. It is, for lack of a better explanation, reality. A moment all experience yet no one blogs about.

The Sound of Wind

2011-02-02T14:24:00.001-06:00

The wind is whipping, screaming across our asphalt roof, its pitch frightening and captivatingly terrifying in its volume. The temperature outside stays steady, the mercury assuring anyone who looks that it's not as cold as the wind might attest.

But, oh! The wind! It is a powerful force, and one that cannot be tamed. It can be, with some wood framing, insulation and siding, endured, but never controlled. It hits hard, smacking those in its path, chapping cheeks, moving piles of snow and tossing aside objects left in its path.

Safe in my house last night, cushioned in between panes of glass and surrounded by smells of soup simmering the stove, the wind called to me last night. Its enchanting whistle begged me to come outside and listen, with no impediments, to what the wind had to say. Yes, the TV told me what the wind was supposed to bring, but listening to the wind itself made me certain that the promised snow was on its way.

The wind is a force that cannot be tamed and, sadly enough, it is also a force that cannot be captured; its force, sound and fury cannot be conveyed. Still, though, I tried.

Memoirs

2011-01-28T15:32:00.000-06:00

The other night Joe picked up the memoir I am currently reading and asked, "Why did you choose to read this book? Why are so you interested in someone's life who you don't even know?"

It's a fair question. For this book, I confess, it was nothing more than seeing it tucked amongst other memoirs at the library and thinking Oh, that's a nice cover.

Reading a bad memoir is like being forced to spend time with someone you don't like very much, who talks too much and too loudly about nothing at all. Except, when you want to, you can close the book and tell that person to stop talking in a way that we only dream of doing in person. Unlike the cloying, obnoxious friend of a friend we're stuck talking to at a party, you don't have to finish the conversation; you can interrupt them mid-sentence and return them to the library post haste.

But reading a good memoir is like making a new friend. In a good memoir you are drawn into a person through their writing much in the same way we're drawn into a person we might meet: through an enjoyable conversation, similar interests or a compelling personality. With a good friend we can relax and enjoyably talk or listen for hours about nothing.

We all have something to say, don't we? We all have something to contribute. I think those who've found a way to do it in print help make life just a little bit more lovely. Thank you, memoir writers. Keep writing about your lives in your warm, genuine voices, and I promise I'll keep reading.

Behind the Scenes

2011-01-26T14:57:00.001-06:00

Real life here today, folks. Dish washing, cleaning up, et cetera.

Take heart! There is joy in the mundane.

Take this, my laundry pile.

This is all our dirty laundry from this last week. Now, I know some of you are all, "Seriously?! That seems like an awful lot amount of laundry! " While others of you are saying to yourselves, "Cate is a total amateur. A week's worth of laundry and that's all she has?"

Doesn't matter what you're thinking. Because whether it's a lot or a little, it has to get done. People around here seem to like having clean clothes to wear.

And I am taking joy in doing it.

Nope. That's not right. I still hate doing laundry. But, I find my joy in seeing the pile diminish. I take joy in tomorrow when (hopefully!) my laundry room floor will be empty again and I can close (and lock!) the laundry chute door and pretend there are no dirty clothes in the house until next Wednesday, when I'll do it all again.

Well, except I'm not sharing my laundry pile with you every week, because that would just be weird.

Stairs

2011-01-25T16:35:00.001-06:00

Yep. It's a flight of stairs. Whoopdee-doo. That is all it is. I'm not going to try and assign some big meaning or anything to this post or picture.

I tried to write a blog post earlier. I've been writing and deleting and writing and deleting until I finally just said, "Screw it." But then I told myself that I could come up with something--anything-- if only I would look. And then I saw my staircase, and it happens to be one of the few areas in my home right now that doesn't have riding helmets, schoolwork, books, shoes and other annoying, unputaway things lying about.

And I like it. See that oil right up on the landing that my grandmother painted? Isn't it beautiful? And the prints I received as a Christmas gift running along the wall next to the stairs?

I walk up and down these stairs endlessly each day. Up and down. Up and down.

And yet it took searching for a blog post to remind me to sit back and appreciate the stairs and the landing, an area that I walk past every day without noticing yet, when I take the time, I remember that it contains lots of items that I know please my eye and elicit good memories. If only I would remember to slow down and look!

Doctor

2011-01-24T16:03:00.000-06:00

Elisabeth. Old enough to know sucking her fingers is babyish, but still young enough to want the comfort of a well-worn blanket and a familiar habit as she nervously anticipates a shot at the doctor's office. I love the juxtaposition of her size and the maturity in her eyes right alongside the babyish habits.

Ballet

2011-01-20T15:55:00.003-06:00

We parents were invited in to watch Elisabeth and her classmates' ballet class earlier this week. These videos are entertaining, to me, because Elisabeth is my daughter. They may be interesting to some of you with some sort of connection to us or to our family. For everyone else, I apologize. Indulge me.

Like every other girl in the room, save one, E has on the required pink tights with a white leotard. She is one of the few (only?) with her hair thrown up in a loose bun.

The short, brief glimpse into the studio.

A longer peek, for the truly interested.

Football Obsession

2011-01-19T17:57:00.000-06:00

Look. If you lived anywhere near here and could feel the hype practically oozing out of football fans around these parts, you would understand why all I can think about is Sunday's game.

Packers. Bears. The winner goes to the Super Bowl. With these two teams composing possibly the biggest sports rivalry ever, is it any wonder that I've been occupying myself with trash talking with Bear fans (please, please, please, Packers, win on Sunday so I can save face) and reading the following sports related blogs which, if you're as crazed about this game as I am, you will want to check out?

Insiders Blog at Green Bay Press Gazette

ESPN North Blog

They are both updated multiple times daily, so check back frequently, or add them to your feeds.

I also like the Journal Sentinel's Packer blog. Lastly, Packer Geeks is worth checking out too.

Packer Game: The Real Deal

2011-01-07T14:24:00.000-06:00

I think you can go ahead and call me a real Green Bay Packers fan now. Why? What's special about now when I've been blathering about the Packers on this blog for far too long (I am well aware most of my readers don't give two hoots about the Packers, or any football team, for that matter)?

Well, I'll tell you. Though I've been to Lambeau Field before to watch the Packers play football, I've never been when it's been cold and miserable. It's easy to go to Lambeau in September, or even October, when it's all warmish and easy. It's quite another when you have to start thinking about how you'll keep yourself warm on those cold, metal benches a few weeks before the game and borrow necessary items as needed. So, last week was my first real cold weather game, and I totally rocked it. And, by rocked it I mean I looked like a tool but was completely warm and had lots of fun.

P.S. Don't feel too sorry for Blake. Yes, he was the lone Bear fan in the car on the two hour drive up and the two hour drive back, but we all knew the Bear loss was inevitable, so think he'd mentally prepared himself beforehand. After all, the Bears still suck.

Thank You, Blog

2011-01-06T11:13:00.003-06:00

Way back when I started this blog I didn't really know what the point of it was. I didn't know if I would keep up with it. And, most importantly, as a blogger, I really didn't know who I was or what I wanted to say.

It's been a few years and I now know what the point of blogging is (at least for me, anyway).

I know that, give or take a spell here and there, I will keep up with it.

And (and here's the real crux of today's post) while I don't really know that I have a point that I am trying to get across every day, I do know exactly who I am, not only as a blogger, but as a person. Further, it's because of this blog that I know my voice as well as I do in all facets of my life.

I know that probably sounds hokey, especially to those of you who don't blog, or who blog about something impersonal. I have always felt pretty comfortable with who I am, even when most of my peers didn't, but before starting this blog my life was fairly compartmentalized in the same way most peoples' lives are: work life, home life, family, these friends, those friends, et cetera. Blogging changes that, though, especially if you're writing about anything remotely real to your life. All of a sudden a conversation that is most apt to happen with These Friends is now being read by Those Friends and Those Friends are seeing a part of you they had yet to discover.

When I first started blogging I didn't share my blog with everyone; I didn't try and keep it a secret necessarily, I just only shared it, intentionally, with some of my life's compartments. That all changed when I joined Facebook. My e-worlds collided with my real life worlds in a very real, very fast way and all of a sudden everyone was telling me they were reading my blog; any shred of compartmentalization in my life had evaporated.

At first I felt kind of uncomfortable with this development; I thought knowing my audience was filled with different people wanting to read different things would limit what I might choose to write about, and would somehow make my posts more generic and less about me. I've found the opposite has happened. I know I can't please everyone, and so I only write what I care about and say what I want to say.

What I am saying, in a very long-winded, convoluted way, is that you see me here, for better or worse, and I don't know if I could have said that in August of 2006. Thanks for sticking around through awkward teenage years of my blog. I promise lots more of the mundane everyday to come, and a lot less (never!) posts about things I don't care about just to fill space.

Christmas 2010 Recap

2011-01-05T16:15:00.000-06:00

What a whirlwind of traveling, overeating and celebration the past few weeks have been.

Christmas Eve. Here. Dad and Diana are here. They bring Alex, fresh off an airplane from Tulsa. Bob arrives around the same time, but falls victim almost immediately to a harsh stomach bug and spends the evening resting.

Those healthy feast on beef tenderloin, Mrs. Butland's potatoes, fresh steamed green beans tossed with butter and lemon pepper, roasted carrots tossed with olive oil and thyme and dinner rolls (of the most basic sort: flour, yeast, etc.; nothing fancy).

After our Christmas Eve service we return home where the kids open new pajamas from their parents and a new ornament for the tree from Dad and Diana.

Christmas morning. Here. Just us. The first kid is awake by 5:28 a.m. This after a night when I finally went to bed around 12 a.m. Still, though, what parent-- even a tired one-- could be upset with excited children on Christmas morning?

Cinnamon rolls. Stockings. Coffee. Christmas story from Luke. Presents.

Christmas afternoon. Silver Lake. Dad, Diana, Cloe and Alex are present. Blake has been stricken by a stomach bug and is home resting.

We eat, and we eat well. Ham. Turkey. Twice baked potatoes. There was more, and it was all delicious and worth every calorie.

Sunday, December 26. Silver Lake. A day of nothing. Wonderful, wonderful nothingness. Unless you were Diana, in which case it was your turn with the stomach bug flying around at warp speed.

Friday, December 31. Oconto Falls. Doug, Wicky, Steve, Sue, Cassandra, Cody and Cedar. We arrive early afternoon and within an hour or two the kids are ripping into their presents.

Later we feast on steaks. Baked potatoes. More decadent, delicious Christmas feasting. We stay up to ring in the new year (all but Caroline).

Nice celebrations, all.

List

2011-01-04T09:00:00.007-06:00

1980 Oakland Raiders. 1997 Denver Broncos. 2000 Baltimore Ravens. 2005 Pittsburgh Steelers. 2007 New York Giants.

What do all these teams have in common? They all won the Super Bowl after entering the playoffs as wild card teams.

It happens. Wild card teams win Super Bowls.

This Packer fan hopes the next addition to that list will be: 2010 Green Bay Packers.

Hey, it happens.

Pictures

2011-01-03T11:49:00.000-06:00

I can finally share these pictures that I took of the kids about a month ago. They were a Christmas gift for my mother and father-in-law, who read my blog, and I didn't want their Christmas present surprise ruined by seeing them here first.

Madeleine, 10 years old.

Hank, 8 years old.

Ellie, 5 years old.

Caroline, 15 months old.

Birds

2010-12-29T10:55:00.002-06:00

There are moments of unexpected perfection that, if you don't take time to slow down and look for, you may miss.

Consider.

It is the morning after Christmas. You could plunge back into the chaotic-ness of the everyday. Or you could sit with a cup of coffee and see this.

A cardinal, happily considering his breakfast.

Or his friend, some sort of woodpecker, taking his turn at the bird feeder.

If you left your post of relaxation and contemplation, you would miss these little guys who show up and search for what's fallen, uneaten and undiscovered.

Within moments, it seems, it's all over. Whether the birds are satiated or frightened by the appearance of a cat in their general vicinity is unclear. What is clear is that there isn't a feathered beast to be seen anywhere.

And to think it could be missed so easily and so quickly.

Cookie Baking

2010-12-15T16:57:00.000-06:00

Decorating cookies is more fun with friends, and I'll tell you why. First of all, you can get away with making one double batch of cookies and end up with multiple kinds of cookies since all participants contribute cookies. Second of all, it's just more fun because there is lots of laughing and chatting, both for kids and adults.

And, in my case, I get help from someone much more talented than I am. Here Erin is showing the girls how to carefully pipe the frosting on, as opposed to how I usually just slap it on.

See? Far prettier than anything I am able to do.

Forgotten Caroline didn't really get to decorate. Instead she walked around whining. To get her to be quiet the other kids kept sneaking her cookies. I think Caroline ate 6,720,000 sugar cookies this afternoon.

And speaking of sneaking sugar . . .

I am pretty sure Gus ate about eight pounds of icing.

I think he would rather have had nine pounds.

Somehow, the cookies got frosted, and I think the kids did a really good job. Don't you?

Ornament Tour

2010-12-13T16:29:00.001-06:00

Every year, going through Christmas ornaments and decorations is akin to strolling down Memory Lane.

That darling clay pig? Made for my mom by her cousin in Vermont when she was first married and on her own. It, along with its clay brethren, have hung on every childhood Christmas tree I ever had (not shown is also a duck among various other things, some of which now reside on Quantum Void's Christmas tree)).

Oh, this crystal unicorn. Every time I look at it I'm back in my childhood living room, staring at it longingly as it twinkled away ever so beautifully. I think I wanted to take it off the tree and play with it and pretend it was real. I think maybe I may have done that a time or two.

Miraculously, the unicorn survived. I now hear the same tenor of angst and desperation that my mother's voice must have contained when my children get too close to it.

The silver angel. This is the defining Christmas tree ornament of my childhood. It was sent to me upon my birth from a great-aunt on my mom's side and whenever we decorated my childhood tree I always had to do it near the end of decorating. The rational was saving it for the end would guarantee it would be on the outside, in one of the best spots, but I also think it was to amp up the anticipation of getting to the "good" ornaments (we all were forced to put up the ones no one thought were any fun, like balls, first).

Even though it was always my ornament, it hung on Mom and Bob's tree even after I was married and had my own tree. I always sort of hinted that maybe it was time for Mom to hand it over already, but I think she liked having those reminders of her kids around her, so I never pushed it.

Almost every ornament on our tree has some story associated with it. It's no wonder putting up our Christmas tree is one of my favorite days of the year.

An explanation of what happened to Caroline.

2010-12-04T13:33:00.001-06:00

A lot of you saw this pathetically sad and ridiculously cute picture of Caroline on Facebook last night. You know, the one where she has a big white gauze pad loosely taped across her face that is, incidentally, covered in dried blood and boogers. The one with her standing in an exam room with a purple hospital gown?

Yeah, this one.

Look, I went for a lot of years with kids that never needed much more than a kiss and a Band-Aid to cure their little mishaps, but these little girls? What's up with all the stitches? I blame Joe. No, no; I know these things happen and you're shaking your head and saying, "But Cate, that's not fair! Kids have accidents!"

Hear me out.

Besides my two c-sections, I have never needed stitches in my life. As a kid I climbed trees. I played in an old dairy barn with lots of glass and nails and other laceration inducing devices lying about. And believe me, I fell. I cut myself. But I never had a cut deep enough or wide enough to require stitches. Joe, however, has needed stitches one hundred fifty kajillion times. At least. So, clearly, Elisabeth and Caroline have their dad's propensity to break their skin open. The evidence seems pretty conclusive, no?

Please continue to dwell on Joe's thin skin for a moment, will you? That will help you ignore my culpability in last night's ER visit. Thanks.

So, last night I was grabbing one quick thing from our attic. One quick thing! Yes, I knew I was taking a gamble. Yes, I knew Caroline was upstairs with me as I pulled down the attic stairs. I glanced at her, absorbed in one of the bedrooms with a stack of toys, and thought, wrongly, I could make it up and down before she noticed the attic ladder was down. I did not know Ellie was coming upstairs. Those attic stairs are a magnet for Ellie; upon arriving upstairs she immediately started climbing them. Caroline saw her sister and followed. She never made it past the third or fourth stair; I heard the girls and started back down. Too late; Ellie started climbing down and ~~pushed past~~ stepped over Caroline. Caroline fell. I saw it all happen as if it were in slow motion, trapped on the attic stairs, just a few feet away from my little baby.

I still don't know what she hit. She fell a couple of feet, maximum, onto carpet. I still don't think she scraped her head on the stairs. There was nothing on the floor.

Yet still, fall she did, and the total damage? A lot of tears, a fair amount of blood, two internal stitches and seven-- yes, seven!-- regular stitches.

She stopped crying just a few minutes after the injury. She was smiling, babbling and laughing for the entire twenty minute drive to Children's Hospital. She was entertained with all attention she received while waiting for her mending. She screamed bloody murder, however, during the stitching despite the topical application of some sort of numbing agent and a mild sedative. After she was happy and silly once again.

Still, though, I feel wretched. I know it was an accident but still. . . something about seeing the blood, the tears, the needle. . . I won't soon forgive myself. On the good side though, I won't dash up into the attic when the stairs are down anymore either. I accept a few days of guilt; I deserve it and it will make it easier on me to let it go when I forgive myself, which I know I will.

How much you want to bet that Caroline forever grumbles about the inevitable scar that she will work at covering for the rest of her life? *sigh*

Cool Storm

2010-11-22T16:51:00.000-06:00

Crazy November storm. Heavy rain. Wind. Tornados. Warm temperatures. Snow in the forecast for tomorrow.

Oh! And these really gorgeous pink clouds.

Caroline Walking

2010-11-20T15:19:00.000-06:00

Fourteen months old. Walking. Sort of talking (though she refuses to perform on command, as you saw in the video).

Everything and Nothing

2010-11-17T18:08:00.001-06:00

Here I sit in my kitchen with a glass of wine to my left while Clementi sonatinas play soothingly. Quietly. I hear the music and not the noise of my children. Their childish noises are content, not overly boisterous and not loud in any sense. There is meatloaf in the oven, and it is just enough cooked that its aroma is starting to tickle my nose. Caroline intermittently crawls under my stool and then walks from the refrigerator to her favorite cabinet where she likes to pull out boxes of pasta and scatter the boxes across the floor. Along with the peaceful strains of Clementi I hear an occasional "uh-oh!" or "NO!" come out of my youngest's mouth.

Where have I been these past few weeks? Nowhere and everywhere. Busy and, yet, ordinary.

I have time. I have the will. And I have lots to say, but tonight I lack the ability to convey any of it. I want to share it all. And I want to share nothing.

So, back to Clementi-- and that meatloaf that, despite being a big blob of greasy meat, smells intensely appetizing.

Great Migrations

2010-11-05T17:03:00.000-05:00

The National Geographic Channel's new miniseries premieres this Sunday evening. Our DVR is already set to record, and I am really looking forward to watching these with the older kids.

Election Ruminating

2010-11-04T15:48:00.001-05:00

Just as I didn't want to post some pathetic, over-the-top entry about how the sky was crashing down around us the day following Barack Obama's election as President of the United States of America, I also didn't want to post immediately following this past Tuesday's election because I was too happy and excited about the results, and almost as annoying as whiney, over-the-top blog posts about election defeats, are the types of posts that are so celebratory that they shove the other side's losses in their face.

How can I not comment, though? For years I have been lamenting how the party I vote for the majority of the time has been losing its way on issues that matter most to me. But these Republicans-- Marco Rubio!, Scott Walker!, Ron Johnson!-- these people are free-market, small government conservatives. So many of our new elected officials are cut from the same cloth as Paul Ryan, and that is a good, good thing given our country's current economic woes.

I still don't know what to make of it all. How can a country vote for a president so much more liberal than the candidates they voted for the other night just two short years ago? Are our memories so short? Does President Obama differ that dramatically from candidate Obama in peoples' minds? Did President Obama overreach in his actions? Did different people vote on Tuesday than two years ago?

More locally, Wisconsin, a state that hasn't voted for a Republican for president since Ronald Reagan, I think, completely went Republican. It voted out a popular Democrat incumbent senator for an unknown entity. Our governor is now a Republican, along with both houses of our legislature. Our congressional delegation is now predominantly Republican.

I truly don't know what to make of it all.

Still, 1994 always remains in the forefront of my mind. Republicans were elected to reign in a president that was seen as governing more to the left than the rest of the nation. It didn't take long for those Republicans to lose their way and become part of the Beltway problem.

So, I am hopeful, but also realistic; voters have to continue to pay attention. Vigilantly.

Trick or Treat!

2010-11-01T15:07:00.000-05:00

My witch,

my S.W.A.T. member,

my Tinkerbell, and

my Poky Little Puppy.

Each of the three kids is pictured next to the jack 'lantern that they carved (or, in Ellie's case, drew on the pumpkin, watched me carve, and then added those necessary touches, like hair, with marker).

Food

2010-10-26T16:00:00.001-05:00

Lately I haven't felt too much like blogging. I'm still reading other people's blogs, but I haven't felt inspired to write much of anything.

I could blame being busy, but I really think it has more to do with the cooler weather moving in and the beginning of a new season. Saying good-bye to the dog days of sun and summer causes me to shift my food focus and allows me to appreciate things that, in the summer, I might not appreciate quite as much, like Erin's homemade, canned applesauce

and my homemade marinara, made with fresh summer tomatoes all the more.

It's a little early for seasonal affective disorder to hit, but I can still enjoy its cure of comfort food, no?

Hank Turns Eight

2010-10-17T12:53:00.001-05:00

Today our little Hanker turns eight-years-old. I actually can sort of believe it; eight isn't so far of a jump from seven. He's getting older; that fact stares me in the face every day lately.

So, as it happens, he is now eight. The little bundle of smiles with a mop of silky, yellow hair atop his head is now a young boy, still full of smiles, but with hair that is darker and more coarse.

We recounted the harrowing (and long-winded on my part) tale of his birth this morning over breakfast; a birthday ritual.

Happy Birthday, Elisabeth!

2010-10-15T09:09:00.001-05:00

This little stinker, still sitting right next to me chomping on her bagel with cream cheese, is five years old today.

Tonight, to celebrate, we will feast on tacos and cupcakes, all yet unmade.

But, right now, today is all about Ellie. Here she is, Ellie though the years. And, what's more, the story of the day we met the little booger.

Happy Birthday, sweet, sweet, Elisabeth Jane!

ETA: Merciful heavens, I just ran across this video of Elisabeth that was taken when she was about fifteen months old. The pajamas she's wearing are the same ones Caroline wore last night! Anyway, it's super, super cute.

The Big Picture

2010-10-14T15:52:00.000-05:00

Wake. Get dressed. Referee fights. Cook. Clean up. Drive. Teach. Referee fights. Teach. Drive. Cook. Teach. Clean up. Referee fights. Teach. Laundry. Referee fights. Kick kids outside. Clean up. Sit down. Correct schoolwork. Plan dinner. Referee fights. Visit with friends outside. Cook. Clean up. Sit down. Fall asleep.

This is my day. Every day, the same, with little to no variation. It's enough to drive a person mad.

And yet, I would choose nothing else right now. As I have said before, I am not especially qualified to do this. My credentials are my faith in myself to learn when necessary and my love for my children that refuses to fail them. Home-schooling this particular batch of boogers is, by far, the most challenging job I have ever had. It is far more difficult than I ever imagined it might be. It is also far more rewarding.

So, the days blend together. There are standout moments, both good and bad ones, interspersed throughout the days. But, mostly, the days blur together in the sort of sameness that pushes so many home-schooling parents I talk to right up to the edge of insanity.

Fun-filled, personally fulfilling days, though, are not the goal, or at least they're not mine. The goal, for me, is intelligent, confident children who are interested in life and what it has to offer, are able to learn things on their own when those curiosities arise and are able to, intellectually, fulfill their vocational responsibilities, whatever they might be, when they're adults.

Yet, still, I could deal with fewer chances to play referee each day.

Rearranged Living Room

2010-10-08T16:35:00.000-05:00

Wednesday afternoon Madeleine and I decided, on a whim, to rearrange our living room.

Some people find an arrangement they like and they stick with it. I get bored, and like change and so I rearrange furniture from time to time.

Here is is, our newly arranged living room. I am rather happy with how it all feels and looks.

Ah, sleep, sweet sleep

2010-10-07T15:02:00.001-05:00

In their sleep, the children recharge and escape the monotony of their daily play and fun.

In their sleep, I gain peace and fortitude to endure for the remainder of their waking hours.

Sleep-- theirs, more than mine, is a gift, especially when it comes in the form of an unexpected nap.

Book Round Up, October 2010

2010-10-05T13:45:00.000-05:00

Lots more reading going on here now that school has started. I'd still like to see Joe and me doing more reading in our free time, but painting and hanging drywall in the basement have been consuming our evenings of late, so not too terribly much reading has been happening.

I must confess, I never did start The Last of the Mohicans. I meant to, but then I just wasn't in the mood anymore. Instead I got sidetracked by a few of these lovely biographies that I hadn't read before, and Thomas Jefferson, Abigail Adams (which I'm still reading, actually) and Ben Franklin kept me from Fenimore Cooper's book. Once was I was fully immersed in the Revolutionary War era, both in school with the kids and in reading, I officially took Mohicans off my to-be-read pile.

A couple years ago Joe and I watched the John Adams miniseries based on David McCullough's most excellent biography of America's second president. We loved it and, ever since, I've wanted to read the book. I feel like I barely have time to read it, but when I do squeeze in a few pages here and there I am loving it; it is wonderfully readable and I love all the snippets of Adams' own words interspersed. The only test might be finishing it before the library wants it back!

I am also reading Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, which Madeleine read last month and loved. I read a chapter here and there and, she was right; it's quite lovely and I can't imagine what little girl wouldn't enjoy the tale.

Madeleine

For school Madeleine is reading Born in the Year of Courage, which she is not crazy about. She just came off of reading Red Sand, Blue Sky by Cathy Applegate and she loved that and it's hard for a new book to measure up.

For pleasure reading, Madeleine, as usual, has an array of books going. She's been re-reading the Little House books again and she's reading Little Farm in the Ozarks, which is the series about Laura's daughter, Rose. I think this might be a first read for this particular book and she is, as I expected, tearing through and enjoying it. She's also been tearing through some of her old reliable series: Allie Finkle, Lemony Snicket, etc. Lastly, she discovered the Runaway Dolls series and she has been highly recommending them to her friends.

Hank

Hank has actually been reading, on his own and without complaining. He's gravitating towards things I would not choose for him, but he's reading-- for fun!-- so I'll keep my mouth shut. He loves the Geronimo Stilton books and Spiderman comic books. He's also a big Beverly Cleary fan and has just about wrapped up Ralph S. Mouse.

For school he's reading Vostaas: White Buffalo's Story of Plains Indian Life. He gives the book two thumbs down. "Moo-oooom! It's not even a story! It's just a bunch of facts."

Family

On an audiocassette, we have been listening to Ben and Me by Robert Lawson, which is the wonderful story of a mouse, Amos, who moves in with Ben Franklin. Think Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence? I bet his mouse friend, Red, might disagree...

Fellow home-schoolers, I can't rave enough about books on tape. It's so easy to find wonderful, classic stories that overlap with whatever period you're studying in history and they're such an enjoyable way to relax for twenty to thirty minutes every day, as a family.

I'm also still reading the Wizard of Oz aloud to the kids. We're averaging a pathetic chapter a week, maybe two, at best. Still, though, we are enjoying it when we do find time to read

Elisabeth

Elisabeth-- er, Ellie-- always enjoys being read to. She has a stack of books she checked out from the library and her clear favorite that we have read, I think, no less than eight hundred and twelve times is Beatrix Potter's Fierce Bad Rabbit.

Joe

Joe also has struggled to find time to read and is still working through This is My Body, just like he was last month. He's been enjoying it immensely when he's hard time to dig into it but it's very heady book and it's taking him awhile to work through.

So, book suggestions! What are you all reading?

Ellie?!

2010-10-04T15:57:00.000-05:00

From the get-go Joe and I agreed the name Elisabeth was a mouthful and assumed we would, at some point, agree on a shorter nickname. We discussed the various choices: Beth, Liz, Lizzie and Libby. Nothing stood out, so we tabled the discussion. Someday, we assumed, she would chose a nickname for herself.

Time went by. We grew accustomed to calling her Elisabeth, and thoughts of nicknames fell away from our thoughts; to us, she became Elisabeth, and Elisabeth only.

Lately Elisabeth has started naming all of her favorite stuffed animals Ellie. When she plays princesses she chooses the name Ellie for herself. All games of make believe have her choosing a new name for herself: Ellie. Ellie, Ellie, Ellie all the time.

It's fitting that she has found the only nickname I am aware of for Elisabeth that we never really considered.

Today in the midst of one of her games, I heard her, quite crossly, say to Madeleine, "STOP calling me Elisabeth! I don't like that name! Call me Ellie!"

I asked her if she really liked the name Ellie. She said she did, and that she preferred it to Elisabeth. I then asked her if she knew that Ellie really was a nickname for Elisabeth. She didn't but, man oh man, her eyes lit up like fireworks on Independence Day. "It is?" she asked incredulously.

I affirmed that it was and, that if she wished, she can tell people her name is Elisabeth but that she prefers to go by Ellie.

The question is, will any of us be able to make the switch?

Thirteen Months

2010-09-29T11:47:00.000-05:00

We call this girl Trouble. It's hard to look at that angelic face and think that, but it's true; she, like most babies her age, is a whole heap of trouble.

Oh, no doubt, she's darling. And she's sweet, too; quick with a smile, a laugh or a hug.

She's close-ish to walking. She can stand now with no hands for short bursts of time, as seen above. But she's a class-A crawler and climber, even without knowing how to walk or stand confidently.

Still, though, boogers and all, she's too much cuteness for me to handle most days. I can't help but smile through my fatigue at her antics and troublemaking.

Two more wedding pictures

2010-09-27T14:13:00.000-05:00

Elisabeth was, without a doubt, the most meticulous flower girl ever. She was careful to make sure that each and every petal was properly placed and, so, at the end of her walk down the aisle she still had a basket full of flowers which, at the end, Diana helped her unload.

Wedding Pictures

2010-09-27T13:54:00.000-05:00

Many (most?) of you have seen the pictures I posted of my sister's wedding on Facebook, however a few of you have mentioned you're not on Facebook and you'd like to see pictures already.

The wedding site at Abbey Springs in Fontana, Wisconsin (that's Lake Geneva in the background).

My dad with my sister and me.

Diana with the prettiest junior bridesmaid and flower girl I've ever seen.

The bride being given in marriage by my dad.

Joe and Caroline at the reception.

And, finally, Cloe and Blake's first dance.

DK Biography: A photographic story of a life

2010-09-23T16:11:00.000-05:00

Have I told you about the DK biographies yet? If not, shame on me, because you're missing out if you've not yet heard of them.

I received Joan of Arc's biography for Christmas this past year, and I immediately fell in love with the series. They're short, compact in size and all do, as their titles suggest, contain scads of photographs.

I've burned through my library's scant collection and I found that while they sat in a basket in our living room that houses our library books, Madeleine read them too.

I am hoping Madeleine will show the same interest when my newest requests in transit through our library's system make their way into our library basket (Revolutionary War era notables like George Washington, Abigail Adams, etc.).

They're no great works of literature, and most adults will make short work of them, but I find them immensely enjoyable and, if you have kids around, you might find their interest is piqued by the welcoming size and the non-threatening heft. And, if not, so what? There are worse ways you could spend an hour of your life than learning a bit more about Annie Oakley then you know at this moment.

Fun Game

2010-09-22T14:42:00.005-05:00

I love this game. Maybe it's not really a game. Hm. I guess it technically probably is.

Whatever. It's fun. It's addicting. And it just so happens to be educational.

You're given a blank map of the United States. A state is shown and you need to drop it in where it goes which, sometimes is tricker than you'd think (like pinpointing Kansas' exact spot without any of its neighboring states to reference).

But instead of having you try again if you get it wrong, it highlights your error in red, which is great for kids who are still figuring out where each of our nation's fifty states go.

I think I might be the most addicted member of this family, with Hank-- a lover of all things electronic-- a close second. I hope you all enjoy it just as much.

Grandma's Birthday

2010-09-21T17:28:00.003-05:00

Want to see something really neat? It's a video of six of Grandma's kids (Joe's grandmother), their spouses, eight of her grandkids and their spouses and countless (fifteen? sixteen?) great-grandchildren singing* to her to help to celebrate her 85th birthday this past Saturday.

And, it's worth noting, I think, that Joe's cousin Tammy (a blog commenter) did such a great job organizing the whole, huge shindig, and I thought it was especially cool that one of Grandma's grandkids flew in from Texas for the weekend with his gorgeous wife and daughter.

But the highlight was the singing, as it always is. Just watch the video.

*To learn more about what we're singing, click here

Lucky Me

2010-09-17T12:02:00.010-05:00

There comes a time, shortly after you have a fourth child, when you suddenly realize many people think four kids is a lot of kids-- maybe too many. Maybe, Reader, you are one of them. I, however, was unaware of this phenomenon, mostly because I had never given it much thought.

After Caroline's birth I slowly started to become acquainted with this mindset as I realized I would get a lot of lingering looks when I was out with all four kids and then The Question. The one that once surprised me has now become all too common: Are they all yours?

I am certain that every parent with four children has heard this question eighteen hundred million bazillion times. Maybe more. The question is asked in a variety of tones: curiosity, astonishment, fear and judgement among them. And after answering in the affirmative that the four little darlings in question, are in fact, all mine, comes this little gem: Wow, you must have your hands full!

The statement befuddles my ability to make polite small talk because I do, in fact, have my hands full. If the comment is made with a smile and a friendly tone (rare) I am apt to respond cheerfully and agree that I do, in fact, have my hands full, but if the statement is accompanied by that look, that wild-eyed, astonished look, the one that says What the f*&% is wrong with you?!(common), I am flummoxed, and left without a response. I am a polite person; I have trouble responding to rudeness and so, usually, I respond with some affirmative mumble and a hurried exit.

The other day I rushed the four kids into our local grocery. It was lunchtime and we were hungry, a bit tired from our library trip and in a rush to grab odds and ends and to get home. I began my ritual of loading the younger girls into the grocery cart while the older kids twirled around the vestibule and, as I hoisted Elisabeth in the back of the cart, I tensed as I heard the all too familiar question: Are they all yours?

I looked up at the questioner's-- a woman-- face. She was short. Probably in her fifites. She was decked out for grocery shopping as many do in our town: high heels, expertly applied make-up and perfectly coiffed hair. She looked put together; certainly no toddlers had spilled their milk on her lovely shirt earlier that same morning. I glanced at down and my jeans and sneakers, ran my hand self-consciously over my ponytail and silently told myself I was not going to respond politely to the impolite remark I was certain was coming.

Yes, I said, clearly. They're all mine.

The woman appraised the four children. Two were sitting peacefully in the cart and the other two were, by now, at my side, staring curiously at this woman. After a long look a smile broke over her face. You are so lucky! she remarked warmly and, with that, off she walked.

I don't know if that woman could have possibly known how thankful I would be, still, even a few days later, to hear her words.

Yes, they're all mine, I definitely have my hands full and I can't imagine having it any other way. How lucky I am. Indeed.

Ft. Pitt Project

2010-09-09T12:24:00.004-05:00

I decided, this year, to stretch history out and spend longer times on each of our units instead of rushing through. My thought was we could spend more time immersed on whatever period we're studying with supplemental books, movies and, most importantly for the kids, projects.

Yesterday was the first of our projects. We decided to follow the instructions in our Story of the World activity guide and make a three dimensional model of Ft. Pitt. I could try and paint some idyllic picture of happy kids contentedly molding the fort out of modeling clay and cutting out blue construction paper for the rivers, but I would be totally lying.

Really, the project consisted of a lot of fighting, crying and large egos. Somehow, though, the project was finished successfully and, even with all the ridiculous turmoil, it still ended up being worth the effort since, when the kids weren't fighting and crying, they talked about the French and Indian War with interest and some level of mastery.

Book Round Up, Early September 2010

2010-09-03T13:31:00.003-05:00

The truth is, I don't read a lot in the summer. I can't say why; I just don't, really. Because I don't, books were off my radar the past few months and what my kids or husband did or didn't read escaped me.

But now, here I am, back in the literary swing of things, so let's talk books.

Me

I have been reading the September issue of Vogue. I know. Pathetic. In my defense, I just finished a really sweet book by Curtiss Anderson called Blueberry Summers, and I just wanted to read something completely unimportant and unnecessary. Plus, I love looking at clothes, and this massive issue is the perfect fix to satisfy that craving!

In history, the kids and I have been studying the French and Indian War and I finally think I am ready to read The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper, which I have always meant to read and never have. After realizing the book that is widely considered Fenimore Cooper's most important work takes place smack dab in the middle of the war, I'm going to take a stab at it and see if it grabs me. Or maybe I'll read it through even if it doesn't. We'll see.

Joe

Joe never reads fiction anymore; it's all politics and theology, and right now it's theology. The book is called The is My Body by Hermann Sasse. While I am sure the book is riveting, I'll wait for Joe to give me the Cliff Note's version in lieu of reading it myself.

Madeleine

Madeleine was the lucky recipient of a gazillion books for her birthday and, in true Madeleine fashion, started many of the books simultaneously. Since she started four or five at once she is, as you might suspect, still in the middle of most of them. They are The Wide-Awake Princess by E.D. Baker, Fablehaven by Brandon Mull, Where the Mountain Meets the Mood by Grace Lin, and Molly Moon and the Morphing Mystery by Georgia Byng, which Madeleine says are all really, really fun. For school she's reading Henry Reed, Inc. by Keith Robertson which, yesterday, was pronounced sort of dull, but now, at page eighty-seven, has been deemed a fantastic book.

Hank

I don't know how I feel about abridged books. I mean, I know I am supposed to hate them; they take wonderfully written books and dumb them down. Except, I don't always hate them. I sometimes feel they can be a wonderful introduction to a classic story that a child may not yet be ready to read.

I have a story from my childhood that it still so vivid in my mind, it might as well have happened yesterday. I was in my bedroom. For a change, my bedroom was clean. Sunlight was pouring through the windows. I was lying in my bed. Somehow, a graphic version of Jane Eyre had fallen into my hands, and I was reading it. Mom walked by the door of the bedroom and paused. "What are you reading?" she asked, a trace of disgust lacing the question as she saw the cartoonish pictures.

"Jane Eyre," I replied, thinking Mom would be proud I was reading what I vaguely understood was a classic novel.

"But..." she sputtered, "It's... a... cartoon! Don't read it-- you;ll spoil the book!" And, with that, Mom walked away. I am convinced she was certain she had won the exchange.

But she hadn't. You see, I continued to read the graphic novel and after I finished, I could not get my hands on a copy of the real version of Jane Eyre soon enough. I devoured the book, and then I went on to read Wuthering Heights, so I could better understand the difference between the Brontë sisters.

So, yes, I am supposed to hate abridged versions of classic novels. I know that. But I don't as much as a I should, and I really thought the Children's Illustrated Classics edition of The Last of the Mohicans would appeal to Hank. It did; he is devouring the book and I can't help but believe this will gently pave the way to reading Fenimore Cooper's classic at an earlier age than he otherwise might have.

For school Hank is reading Meet George Washington by Joan Heilbroner, and he has loved how this book has overlapped with our history lessons; it's a great easy, short biography of Washington's life.

Elisabeth

This girl likes to read anything and everything. Her favorite book right now is A Visitor for Bear by Bonny Becker, but she always enjoys a wide array of books. The Pinkerton books by Steven Kellogg. Ian Falconer's books. You name it, she's game to snuggle in and have it read to her.

Family

As a family we're reading The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. It's been fantastically fun to note the ways the book has differed from the movie we are all familiar with, and we're anxious to find another series we can enjoy as a family. Perhaps this will be the one!

The kids and I are listening to The Sign of the Beaver by Elizabeth George Speare on tape during our school day. This book, while fiction, corresponds to the period we are studying in history, and cuddling on the sofa with blankets and this tape is a nice, quiet way to end our school day. We are all enjoying the story immensely.

First Day of School

2010-09-01T15:13:00.006-05:00

We are, ex-ci-TED, yo!

Or, at least, accepting the end of summer as graciously as possible.

And, of course, still maintaining a certain level of ridiculousness.

How was your first day?

One Year!

2010-08-30T07:23:00.004-05:00

As of yesterday, one year old.

It's hard to believe this little baby...

has become this little cake eating machine.

Summer. On a Plate.

2010-08-19T14:22:00.004-05:00

Without tomatoes picked moments before, all this plate would have to recommend itself would be its vibrant colors. But with freshly picked tomatoes? Magic.

On My Lap

2010-08-17T15:37:00.006-05:00

Picture taken, appropraitely, with Caroline aboard my lap.

There are days where, despite our best intentions, what we want-- maybe even need-- to get done, does not. My excuse, today, is a clingy, congested, coughing baby who, despite needing to do so, will not nap and refuses to exist anywhere but my arms.

As you might imagine, this hinders me from getting much of anything productive done.

I provide my family with a tidy home (usually), nutritious food (generally speaking) and clean clothes, among other things; but this, the ability to drop everything and cuddle wipe boogers and nurture, this is one of the most important things I can do for my children. What good are clean, matching socks if they've been sorted while tears streaked the angelic face of my youngest? How can I possibly ignore a chubby pair of outstretched arms in the name of cooking dinner?

These days frustrate me much more than they delight me: I relish the opportunity to cuddle and nurture my kids, but I selfishly despise being thrown off of my schedule. I feel angst-ridden as I look, impossibly, at my long list of yet unchecked items written out neatly and so hopefully in my familiar blue Moleskin notebook.

What wonderful teachers our children are. I tell my kids to be flexible; in their illness they teach me to be flexible. I hope my kids grow up knowing that, no matter what else life throws at them, their role as a parent to young children will be primary; in their illness my children remind me that their care is primary. I try and instill in my kids a sense of compassion, and the need to care for others who need our help; in their illness my children present someone, very close at hand, who needs my help.

Lesson learned, message received. Now, can Caroline be better tomorrow? Please?

RuffleButt

2010-08-16T14:02:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry, how is it I am just finding out about RuffleButts now? I feel angry, like I've been cheated that I haven't had one of these on Caroline's cute little tush all summer long.

I mean, really. Come on.

Something Lovely

2010-08-15T14:26:00.004-05:00

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul. --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

I spend my days searching for beauty in the everyday: drinking coffee from a favorite mug, an orderly shelf or drawer, pausing by a favorite painting, attempting to capture a beautiful sight or thought, arranging food artfully and beautifully, choosing a pretty shirt, taking a few moments in a bad day to think of something beautiful, something right in front of me, that I had refused to notice in my angst, savoring an exquisite sentence or thought in a book or on a blog, the colors in a beautiful rug; it doesn't matter what the object is, it only matters that I notice it, and appreciate it.

There is so much that is ugly in our world, I can't help but wonder why we all don't want to surround ourselves with something beautiful and lovely, each and every day to, as Goethe says, keep from obliterating the sense of what is beautiful that is in each of us.

New Football Season

2010-08-14T11:33:00.003-05:00

Tonight. Packers. Lambeau. Cleveland Browns. 7 p.m. CDT. CBS.

Each new season brings about excitement and anticipation, and this year we have a real shot at being alive in the Superbowl. Also, to add to our personal excitement this season, Joe and I fell into tickets for two regular season, conference games at Lambeau.

Football season is upon us once again. I am giddy with anticipation!

Madeleine Birthday Recap

2010-08-10T13:38:00.005-05:00

The birthday girl, on her birthday. She requested tacos, Spanish rice and fresh sweet corn.

The birthday girl's party, a few days after the actual day, celebrating with family and friends.

The first birthday in Birthday Season is in the tank. Next up, in a few weeks, is Caroline. Then Joe, Elisabeth and Hank following shortly thereafter. I'll be back to blogging in November, I think. ;)

Yummy

2010-08-09T12:23:00.006-05:00

Yesterday I volunteered to bake a dessert for a funeral reception this afternoon at church and, so, this morning I got it in my head that I had to make these fabulously delicious oatmeal cookies that I have made in the past from a recipe I copied from Erin's blog. I should have given up the ghost and made something else since I couldn't remember when Erin posted the recipe. I spent the better part of my morning scouring her archives looking for the darn thing and, then, finally there is was: March 18, 2009.

These are delicious enough that I need to have the recipe here, on my blog, so I can find the receipe more quickly and make them more frequently because, really, how can anything with that much butter not be fabulous?

Buttery Brown Sugar and Oatmeal Shortbread

1 c flour
3 T corn starch
1/2 t salt
1 t cinnamon
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1/2 c plus 2 T packed brown sugar
3/4 c oats (not quick oats)

Beat butter and sugar until smooth. Add flour, corn starch, salt and cinnamon, mix until combined. Add oatmeal, mix to distribute evenly. Press into 9 x 9 buttered pan. Bake for 25 minutes in a 350 degree oven, or until the top is browned. Cut into pieces immediately after removing from oven.

My sous chef thinks even the batter is completely delicious (it is).

Double Digits

2010-08-04T16:09:00.002-05:00

This girl, my Madeleine, is now ten years old. I don't think that's really acceptable, but that's how old the calendar says she is.

I won't retell what's been told; new readers of my blog can find her birth story here.

All readers, though, can delight with me for a moment as I shine the spotlight Madeleine's way.

She is, on the whole, the child who is the most similar to me. This can cause consternation: butting heads, easy irritation with each other's faults and lots of arguing. It also means I know which of my kids will want to sit and read with me, silently, for hours at a time. Or shop with me. Or understands why I need quiet time in the kitchen or in front of computer. She knows, because she has those outlets too. I blog; she writes story upon story in spiral notebooks scattered about the house. Good, interesting and detailed stories they are, too. I cook; she sets up elaborate villages and houses for her dolls. I read; she reads.

Madeleine is now ten, and while the calendar tells me she's one year older than she was two days ago, the date means very little beyond cake, presents and a chance to celebrate Madeleine. I've seen her changing and growing up for months now. She is more mature than she was last year-- taking it upon herself to notice a small child at the park unable to reach the swing and running over the help her climb in, and then, to stand there and gently push the girl. She is becoming more private than she was last year-- she used to regal everyone with every detail about everything that she experienced and thought, now she keeps some things to herself. She is no longer content to be treated like a child; she constantly struggles to be given more freedom but struggles with the how-tos of the freedom when she receives it. She's groping along, figuring out what being somewhere between a little girl and a preteen means, and where she fits.

I know, I'm biased, but I think she's pretty great.

Elisabeth Sings

2010-08-02T18:00:00.002-05:00

This video cracks me up. No, she did not know she was being taped.

Eleven Months

2010-07-30T14:19:00.002-05:00

A real supermom would have done this yesterday, on the day Caroline turned eleven months old, but that's why I'm a wannabe.

We're on the road today, but even with iPhone pictures, it's obvious Caroline is growing up. She's pulling to a stand. She's beginning to cruise on furniture, though she's cautious and unsure while doing so.

She is done with baby food and eats mostly what we all eat along with nursing about three times a day.

We call her Monster, much in the same way you might call a fat person Tiny. She is, personality-wise, easygoing and delightful. I simultaneously and paradoxically feel as if she's been a part of our lives forever and yet am unable to fathom that she is almost a year old.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Boots

2010-07-28T14:24:00.001-05:00

People often complain about Murphy's Law, and I am certainly not above whining about things that don't go my way.

But.

I've been whining a lot about the flood last Thursday and its aftermath and I thought it was time I highlighted something that went right that day, namely these pretty pink rain boots.

I have wanted, but been too cheap to purchase, rain boots for a few years now. Thursday afternoon-- well before the rain-- I came across these boots for $11. I reasoned I'd never find such cute rain boots at such a price again, and I snatched them up. Then, because I was taking Madeleine to riding where people often wear rain boots regardless of weather AND because it was supposed to rain, I actually WORE them and had them on when, later that night, I had to wade home in deep water.

So, yeah, my basement was wet. But at least my feet were dry. And well shod, if I do say.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Update

2010-07-27T10:40:00.001-05:00

Hm. Just a week ago my kids were watching TV and playing down here. I'm still feeling very whiney and sorry for myself.

By the way, we would NOT have gotten to this point without all the help we've received. Thank you to parents helping haul out garbage, tearing down paneling and doing our laundry. Thank you neighbors for allowing us to use your washing machines and offering up a beer when needed.

Still no phone or Internet. Please call cells if you need us!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Water Update

2010-07-23T09:42:00.003-05:00

Many of you heard about the storms that hit Milwaukee last night. We were deluged. Water, water everywhere. Lots of damage to take care of today. I'm taking pictures for the insurance adjuster, and I'll try to share as I have time. We're all safe, though, and all damage is stuff that will, generally speaking, be easy enough to take care of.

UPDATED PICTURES:

Morning Conversation

2010-07-22T08:30:00.003-05:00

We had a few technical difficulties with the subject trying to attack the photographer, but overall you get an idea of Caroline's babbling abilities. I'm still not certain the "mamas" are intentional, but they're cute and heartwarming nonetheless.

Zucchini

2010-07-20T17:43:00.003-05:00

It should not surprise me that on this day last year I posted about zucchini. July in Wisconsin is rife with the squash. If you don't grow it yourself, someone else you know does, and zucchini plants are prolific.

And, so, my zucchini supply is bountiful. Just as I use up the last of my supply, more appears.

Last night it was zucchini pancakes, my absolute favorite way to use zucchini as a dinner component.

Today, though, it was time to move onto sweeter fare: a chocolate zucchini cake from an issue of Bon Appétit. The cake is fabulous and with the substitution of whole wheat flour, I can almost believe it's healthy. Healthy or not, it's a perfectly moist chocolate cake. If you can, enjoy it warm!

Chocolate Zucchini Cake

2 1/4 cups sifted all purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 cups grated unpeeled zucchini (about 2 1/2 medium)
1 6-ounce package (about 1 cup) semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325°F. Butter and flour 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan. Sift flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt into medium bowl. Beat sugar, butter and oil in large bowl until well blended. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla extract. Mix in dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in 3 additions each. Mix in grated zucchini. Pour batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle chocolate chips and nuts over.

Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Cool cake completely in pan.

Lazy Days of Summer

2010-07-19T15:09:00.002-05:00

I usually like to spend spring choosing the materials we will need for the next academic year. This consists of evaluating current materials and assessing the kids' strengths, weaknesses, and interests. In a perfect world, my materials for the following fall would be ordered before the school year ends so that I can spend the summer pouring over the new materials.

I did not do that this year. Just last week I received my big box from Rainbow Resources and am completely overwhelmed with how much work I have ahead of me.

I need a schedule. Structure. I need to know what the halfway point is in our chosen texts so that I can see if we're staying on track. Not in an obsessive way; if we fall behind because the kids are stuck on a concept and need more time or because they're interested in delving into something more thoroughly, that is fine. More than fine, in fact; those are two big reasons we home-school. But, generally speaking, I like to know that we should reach or be near a certain chapter by a certain point; those types of goals help me sleep more easily at night.

I like to be familiar with what the kids are learning the following year, especially now that Madeleine spends so much time on her own with minimal help from me beyond oversight and tracking her comprehension of what she is learning. If she, say, has trouble identifying and labeling pronouns used as subjects, direct objects, predicate pronouns or as the object of a preposition, like she did this past year, then I sure as heck better reintroduce myself to the concept so I can explain it to her if or when she struggles.

The other day someone said to me, "I'm done with summer. I wish it were fall already."

I am not ready to wish away these lazy summer days.

And I find I am calm about what I first saw as my lack of preparedness, academically speaking, because this summer has recharged me, psychologically-speaking. Sleeping in. Lazy mornings at the pool. Vegging with friends. Playdates at the beach.

The books are there. And they'll still be there on a rainy day when we have nothing to do. And I find, amazingly, that I am OK with that.

Running

2010-07-09T11:26:00.008-05:00

I hate to run.

Or, at least, that's what I always thought. Until a few years ago I would shake my head is disbelief when someone would express that not only did they run, but that they enjoyed it. I assumed, at worst, they were lying or, at best, they possessed some sort of running/exercise gene that I sorely lacked.

My first career as a runner was short and dismal and, really, more of a coerced occasional hobby than a career. It lasted from grade school through high school and it is this stage that I blame for the psychological issues I currently have with running. I can still vividly recall reaching the running unit every year in school and hating gym class during those times with a hatred I am unable to adequately articulate. I remember huffing and puffing and feeling somehow inadequate because not only could I not run a mile in the times the guidelines said I should be able to, but most years I couldn't even finish the mile without some degree of walking involved. This happened year after year and, after awhile, I felt like a total running loser, and assumed there must be some running/athletic gene that I lacked. After graduating high school, I didn't run on purpose again for twelve more years.

A few years ago, I realized I had to do something, exercise-wise. I felt out of shape and yucky. Somehow I read or heard about Cool Running's Couch to 5K program and I decided, grudgingly, it was time to give running another chance. I did my best to dismiss all my running prejudices and give it a fair chance. In this second running career of mine, I started out slow and on my own terms. It hit me about five weeks in: I loved to run! Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?) consistent running showcased some health issues I had not previously been aware of. I could barely muster up the energy to climb out of bed most days, let alone think about running. Sadly, I hung up my running shoes.

And now, here we are almost three years after my second phase of my running career. I have a new primary doctor who I love, I feel fantastic and I am running again, and running more than I ran during the second phase of my career. I am knocking out two miles (or longer) routinely now and, like before, I love to run. Not only that, but I am good at it. My endurance is growing. I am shaving time off my mile. Most importantly, I feel fantastic.

Still, though, there's that little voice from my childhood there, in the back of my head, at the start of every run. It always doubts whether I'll be able to finish my run without slowing to a walk, as if I am somehow incapable of running as far or as fast as other runners; my former insecurities of being a loser at the game of running are hard to shake.

But shake them I will. Those running insecurities took thirteen years to engrain themselves, and then twelve more to fester and compound; I figure I will have these running insecurities for a long time to come.

But, the real point of my post is this: if I can do it anyone can. Really. If you've ever felt you lack some sort of running gene or that you too are a running loser, I'm here to tell you that you're not. If I can do this, anyone can. I am still so thankful for the Cool Running Couch to 5K plan for making me believe that.

Elisabeth Rides a Two-Wheeler

2010-07-07T10:18:00.002-05:00

Elisabeth has had zero interest in learning to ride her bike without training wheels until Saturday, when two other kids on the block to their training wheels off their bikes. At that point Elisabeth insisted that her training wheels come off too and, from what Joe said (I wasn't home), she was whizzing along unassisted in no time.

To suggest that she is proud of herself might just be the biggest understatement of 2010; she has been blurting out, "I CAN RIDE A TWO-WHEELER!" to anyone within earshot for the past five days.

Madeleine the Mom

2010-07-06T10:50:00.004-05:00

Madeleine loves younger kids; younger kids in our social networks flock to her like a moth to a flame, and Madeleine reciprocates the adoration.

Yesterday was Joe's and my goddaughter, Delaney's, third birthday and it was no surprise to me when Madeleine noticed the birthday girl's shyness with the large crowd assembled and was able to draw her out. It didn't take long before Madeleine was giving piggy back rides.

And later, when it was time for cake and Delaney didn't want to sit by herself with everyone snapping pictures and singing "Happy Birthday," Madeleine jumped in and sat with Delaney, making both the birthday girl and Madeleine very happy.

It always warms my heart when I see Madeleine mothering and nurturing younger kids, but it's especially neat to see her with Delaney. Joe and Delaney's dad met when they were four or five years old and now, thirty some years later, their oldest daughters are playing together and enjoying each other's company. I think that's pretty neat.

Summer School

2010-06-30T15:34:00.004-05:00

One of the negatives of home-schooling for the kids is that, in a lot of ways, school never ends. Don't want your non-math loving nine-year-old to forget how to reduce fractions? Work on math throughout the summer. Afraid your seven-year-old on the cusp of realizing he likes to read won't continue to make progress? Keep reading together over the summer.

Schoolwork over the summer is only a negative inasmuch as it's one more thing to check off our to-do list every day, but it always ends up being a positive. I rarely have to go over major concepts they've long forgotten in summer heat once school officially starts in the fall. Doing so allows us to have more free time around Christmas to bake cookies and do other (fun!) things in anticipation of the holiday. A multiplication drill here and there helps beat summer doldrums and boredom if it's too chilly to swim (which it has been!) and neighborhood friends are not about.

We don't do much schoolwork; just enough to keep our heads in the game to to produce a small amount of grumbling from the students. This is the first summer we've attempted any schoolwork and, so far, I like the change.

Ten Months

2010-06-29T15:04:00.005-05:00

I'm not going to lie; I wasn't exactly doing cartwheels when I found out I was pregnant with Caroline. I am sure I muttered a curse word or two. I may have even cried. But, darn it, this little girl has totally snookered me, heart and soul, and I cannot imagine our lives without the little monster.

Elisabeth's Day

2010-06-28T17:27:00.004-05:00

Elisabeth has attended friends' birthday parties in the past, but they've always been invitations extended to our whole family, or to her and her siblings. Saturday she was invited to a preschool classmate's party and only Elisabeth was invited. It ended up that Joe took her to the party, but she was positively aglow from all the "tea" (juice), cake and party games by the time Joe brought her home.

Madeleine and Hank grew out of the baby and toddler stages gradually, or so it seemed to Joe and me at the time. Elisabeth has seemingly sprouted overnight, both physically and emotionally, and it's taken some time for Joe and me to realize that she wants the same things the other kids get: activities, time alone with a parent, special things that only they get to do.

We forget these things because, to us, Elisabeth is still a baby. But the excitement about this party and that look on her face that is very little-almost-big -girl-esque tell me that Joe and I need to do a better job of remembering.

Just Jump

2010-06-25T14:21:00.003-05:00

Oh, to be young and jump with such reckless abandon.

I remember those days well. I wouldn't want to re-live them, but I remember them, and it warms my heart to see my children run, jump and explore and learn that they might hurt themselves jumping from high spots by actually hurting themselves instead of me telling them that they might. Parents are fallible beings; our children will not always believe us, even when what we tell them is true, unless they figure it out for themselves.

My children climb trees. They jump off ledges at the beach. They are given age-appropriate responsibility and freedom.

I am, I have discovered, a Free Ranger. Go ahead; check out the website. You may not agree with much (or anything) she writes, but she is interesting and, I guarantee, some of the statistics she talks about will astound you (for instance, your child is at no more risk of being kidnapped on a solo walk home from school than you were when you did it).

Understanding Elisabeth

2010-06-22T17:36:00.007-05:00

I love this girl. Elisabeth is easygoing, yet she is stubborn and strong-willed. She is loving and sensitive and, yet, she is ferociously independent. She is quiet and introspective but she is also loud and the most un-shy child I have ever met. She is a tomboy who loves sparkly, girly dress up clothes.

All of these things that make her our little Elisabeth I get. I understand them. I understand her.

It warms my heart when others get her as well. It warms my heart even more when it's someone Elisabeth spends significant amounts of time with, like her preschool teachers. I received a letter from both her teachers the other day that said a lot about our girl and the everything they said pointed to the one thing they didn't say: they get her.

Father's Day 2010

2010-06-21T13:57:00.012-05:00

We're one of those families that never makes a big deal about Mother's Day or Father's Day and, as a result, we don't have anything we traditionally do on those days.

Yesterday Chris and Erin invited us to spend Father's Day with them and their four kids taking advantage of the Pioneer Village's open house (read: free) Sunday afternoon about a half an hour north of here.

What a wonderful place! I mentioned we recently visited Old World Wisconsin and Pioneer Village is definitely very similar, though on a much smaller scale. But because it's smaller there are also less people so the kids were able get their hands dirty and do a lot of interesting things, like vote,

grind coffee,

experience a one room school house,

wash clothes,

and make rope.

The kids even took a turn at attempting some old-fashioned games.

And then Chris and Joe decided the kids shouldn't have all the fun, so they warmed up their hoop rolling skills and eventually raced.

Joe took off gang busters, but Chris eventually prevailed.

And, though rarely photographed, the babies were there too. Caroline and Gus spent their time together swapping boogers and illnesses on the grass while everyone else played.

I know yesterday was supposed to be all about fathers, but our whole family had a really fun time.

Spam

2010-06-21T09:13:00.001-05:00

What is going on with all the spam in my comments? What good is word verification if the spammers can easily circumvent it? Any advice from those more knowledgeable than I?

Caroline Crawls

2010-06-15T08:48:00.002-05:00

Highlights

2010-06-14T10:40:00.010-05:00

Too much. Lately it's been a good too much, but our lives have been busy.

Some highlights from the past few weeks.

A trip to Old World Wisconsin with Dad and Diana. Our group is shown here at a stagecoach inn in Crossroads Village.

Later that night it was off to see the Milwaukee Symphony perform Mahler's Third in their season finale. The tickets were a birthday present and Bob and I had a nice time seeing the concert together.

There was a year end soccer party. Cooking. Cleaning. Late nights at work for Joe. Squeezing a run in here and there.

A trip to Six Flags Great America with the two older kids. Here they are about to board their first roller coaster.

Soccer practices. Riding lessons. Laundry. A year end preschool picnic.

Madeleine's first non-school show put on by the Wisconsin Hunter Jumper Association.

A fun family birthday party (thanks again, Tammy and Jim!). Doctor's appointments.

Our calendar is still more stuffed than I would like but, like I said, it's been a good busy.

UPDATED: Oh, and I forgot to mention-- a certain baby is CRAWLING!

Birthday Kickball Game

2010-06-02T17:13:00.009-05:00

There are times where there is so much going on that I don't even know where to begin, blogging-wise. The everyday activities we busy ourselves with have kept us... well, they've kept us busy.

A birthday (mine). Gatherings with old friends. Kid activities. Laundry. Schoolwork. The fun and the mundane; we've been doing it all this past week and it has kept us on the move.

And so, a highlight: my birthday kickball game in Silver Lake. I mandated participation by all family members and all complied. My team, The Destroyers (Bob missing from photo),

was, ultimately, completely crushed by Pretty in Pink

but along the way we had a lot of laughs (check out my sister's outfit),

some injuries (Joe pulled a hamstring)

and a whole lot of fun.

Nine Months

2010-06-01T09:24:00.005-05:00

Nine months. Well, nine months and three days, if we're counting exactly.

Nine months and still sweet as can be. And, lately, as busy and as curious as can be. She can grab the tiniest little objects and, of course, inspects them by shoving them into her mouth. Perfect when the object is, say, a piece of cut up banana. Not so perfect when it's a dust bunny or another piece of garbage missed during a not-frequent-enough sweep of the floor.

Nine months and soooo close to crawling. The desire and strength are there. Soon the know-how will be as well. Too soon, I suspect.

Nine months and still generally laid back, but starting to have opinions and, despite not having a vocabulary, finding ways to assert those opinions. Her cries, grunts and whines are becoming distinct and decipherable. Some mean what cries traditionally mean (Mom! I'm dirty! Change my diaper!) while others are more demanding and specific (Mom! I see my pureed carrots right there! Please spoon them into my mouth more quickly!).

Nine months. *sigh*

Partner

2010-05-25T17:48:00.000-05:00

A certain litigator in our family was just promoted to partner status at his law firm. Insert big, big sigh of relief. Congratulations, Joe! To use my favorite off mic political quote ever: This is a big *bleep*in' deal!

Goalie

2010-05-25T14:33:00.002-05:00

This past year of soccer, Hank has developed a favorite position to play.

He's good at it too. When he plays goalie he puts his whole heart, head and body into the game in a way that he doesn't do at any other position.

Good Week

2010-05-21T10:38:00.003-05:00

In my goal of blogging every day-- or every weekday, anyway-- I often fall short, and most frequently posts fail to come not as a result of a lack of ideas, but because of a lack of time.

Take this week for instance. An outing with home-school friends. Days spent outside, basking in the warm, bright daylight hours. Weeds, which had staged a full-on assault on the flower borders, were staved off and, ultimately defeated. Garden conundrums were dealt with. (How does one provide enough produce for a family our size with two hurdles to jump: a small yard and a head gardener who insists on lots of flowers and color?) And, of course, amongst all of this everydayness was more everydayness: cooking, cleaning, errands.

My story is not unique. Thousands (millions?) of parents across the globe can relate. Parents of small children understand that a task that should take certain amount of time takes at least three times longer than alloted for with kids in tow. But-- and I'm sure other parents will say this too-- there is joy in the unforeseen. A tiny hand placing a pole bean in the dirt. A peaceful cuddle on a blanket in the grass with a giggling baby.

No, I didn't blog this week. But it was a good, good week.

A Pretty Fish

2010-05-14T14:50:00.003-05:00

Many years ago, before I was born, a canvas found its way into my grandmother's possession and she created what you see here. I don't know how she did it; talk of oils and pastels and anything else relating to putting a vision onto paper usually escapes me.

From what I understand from those who knew my mom's mom-- she died just months before I was born-- she didn't consider herself to be terribly talented. I somehow doubt my inexperienced opinion carries much weight in the art community, but I beg to differ. I find Grandmommy's work to be fantastically appealing, especially her use of color and, in this case, texture.

Every day I admire this painting; it's one of my favorites, but I can't help but wonder what its story is. What was Grandmommy thinking when she painted it? Was my mom running underfoot as the fish grew in her imagination? Did Grandmommy lose herself in the orange, blue and pink to drown out the noise of quarreling children? Or, rather, were the seeds of this painting visualized in late night hours after her three daughters were grown? How many troubles of later life were mixed in with the paint?

It doesn't matter, I suppose. With so many artistic endeavors, the interpretation is skewed by our own experiences. No matter how well something is conveyed, it is impossible to get inside someone else's head, and so, for now, I take it for what it is: a beautiful, brightly colored fish that brightens my home.

I Cheated... and I'm Glad

2010-05-12T16:59:00.005-05:00

Today I told myself that I would photograph something around my house that I found beautiful, and the only caveat was that whatever subject I chose had to be ordinary. Mundane. Easy, peasy, I told myself. I like my house. I have lots of things in my house that I enjoy seeing on a daily basis.

However, the task proved to be more difficult than I had imagined and, ultimately, I failed. Granted, my foes were bad lighting and constant interruptions, but still, couldn't something better than a jumble of...well... crap piled on the bench just inside our front door be found?

Probably. And for someone with more forbearance than I would have found it and made it beautiful.

But me?

Well, I cut my losses and reverted back to an old standby, one of my very not mundane or ordinary photographic crutches.

And really. That smile. Those eyelashes.

Can you blame me?

How I Cook

2010-05-11T17:32:00.004-05:00

I love cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food. -- Julia Child or W.C. Fields, depending on who you ask.

I love that quote. Most evenings find me in my kitchen, apron on, cutting board in front of me and a glass of wine near at hand. More often than not, that wine never finds its way into the food. For me, a glass of wine coupled with the familiar tasks of washing, slicing and sautéing are rather cathartic.

Tonight's pairing is a favorite Beaujolais and a fast, easy and delicious stand-by of roasting chicken sausage with whatever vegetables are at hand. For our large family, I cut up two packages of precooked chicken sausage into bite-size pieces and toss in a 9x12 pan with red potatoes, vegetables (tonight's line-up consists of various colored peppers and a red onion), olive oil, salt and pepper. Cook until fork tender.

Now, here is the really critical part: make sure you save some wine so that after you've thrown the pan in the oven you can sit back, relax and enjoy whatever variety of wine you've chosen with, if you're lucky, nothing but the heavenly aromas that will soon be escaping from your oven to keep you company.

Blue Ribbon Winner

2010-05-10T13:49:00.004-05:00

The other day Madeleine competed in her first horse show: two flat work classes (walk, trot, canter) and two jumping classes. She did not win any of them. She competed in classes with kids who have experience far beyond what she does. She was assigned her least favorite school horse. I could continue to list excuses but, the bottom line is, at the end of the day, she did not do as well as she had hoped she might.

I have a hard time parenting disappointment. It's easy to mother a blue ribbon winner. Congratulations, Sweetie! I told you you're a fantastic rider! But a middle of the pack, or worse, a last place finisher? I said the same thing I would have said had she won: Congratulations, Sweetie! I told you you're a fantastic rider! Somehow though, to her, the words don't ring as true; she wants validation from someone other than the family and friends there cheering her on.

Madeleine was happy enough to participate. She believes her family when we tell her she's a good rider, and she should because she is, but her desire for independent validation mirrors my own; she has a competitive spirit. She's learning, though, that sometimes the competition you're participating in is with yourself, against your own nerves and insecurities. Before she rode her nervousness was on display for everyone present to see (see photo directly above this paragraph) and, despite those fears, she went out in front of family, friends, spectators and judges and let herself be judged.

For that, she is a blue ribbon winner in my book.

You Must Allow Me to Tell You

2010-05-07T12:47:00.005-05:00

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

Those words, spoken by Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen's most well-known work, Pride and Prejudice, have become almost iconic; every Austen fan out there who reads or hears those words knows, instantly, who spoke them and when.

This morning my friend Terri gave me the mug you see above. It was ostensibly a birthday gift-- an early one-- but I suspect that it was a gift that my friend saw in her Etsy surfing and decided that it was something I, a lover of Austen, needed to own. She handed it to me outside Barnes and Noble, in the rain, where she and I, and some of our children, huddled under a lone umbrella.

We were there to pick up a copy of Artful Blogging, a magazine which a few months ago I had never heard of, and was introduced to because Terri's blog is featured in the current issue.

We stood there in the rain, exchanging "We need to get together soon!"s, quick hugs and this lovely mug that I will use and think not of Jane Austen or Elizabeth Bennet, but of my crazy, dread-headed friend, who has been my friend since we were seventeen years old and who still knows me well enough to see a mug that, had I seen it first, I would have bought. In a lot of ways we've grown up together and, ultimately, we've grown into very different people, but whatever that bind is that makes people friends, Terri and I have it. I have the magazine sitting beside me, a cup of hot coffee in my new mug and I am about to turn to page sixty-eight in the summer edition of Artful Blogging and read words that are unknown to me but that I already love.

Thanks again, T.