Thirteen Months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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