Friday night live

Earlier this evening...

All four bambini are out in the garage with my beloved.  Tomorrow is the Pinewood Derby for the elder lad's Cub Scout pack, so the lad and his dad are putting the finishing touches on his lustrous truck (another one).  Through the open door I can banging, clanging, scuffling, and the younger lass yelling jubilantly "here we go!"  She and her sister are sitting in the green wagon that is rarely used for outings to the neighborhood playground anymore.  The younger lad is nearby in a stance that reads "train conductor" although he is wearing a black shirt vest (over his white school uniform polo) with green felt strategically cut and placed to look like what Chris Kratt wears on the lads' favorite show Wild Kratts graciously made for him by the mother of one of his classmates after hearing how much he, his brother, and his sisters enjoy that show.  The lasses say they are going to the beach. I'm not sure how the lad fits in the beach trip, but I have every confidence that he's got a plan.  Maybe they're taking the train to the beach.

How they love to go tinker around in the garage with their dad, sometimes stomping around in the bed of his truck, sometimes dabbing paint on small blocks of wood like the elder lass did last year as her brothers painted their Derby cars, sometimes using tools on a project with his skilled and immediate guidance.  The younger lad won't get to enter a car in the Pinewood Derby until next year when he is a first-year Cub Scout, but he's made a car (or is this year's a boat?) both years alongside his brother. 

The outcome of tomorrow's Pinewood Derby is anyone's guess, and we're not worried about that.  The process of creating, crafting, and finishing the cars has been the real prize.

The day has had its ups and downs, from these amicable sounds, school Mass, and lunch with a cherished friend to displays of fury from tired, frustrated bambini and sibling squabbles that are nothing new.  The scene in the garage ended when the lasses came in to get ready for bed and the Derby truck with freshly-installed wheels came in to cure overnight. Then it was the usual nuttiness that is the bedtime routine.

I'm sure glad I stepped away from folding laundry to take in the sights and sounds out in the garage.  It was a moment meant to capture forever.

assessments

My birthday was last Saturday.  Judging by the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry, someone seems to think she's still the Birthday Girl with a "get out of folding laundry because it's your birthday" pass.  Today is my lovely friend Katie's birthday as well as that of my beloved's grandfather and our cousin.  Another cousin's birthday earlier was this week, so I'm thinking the laundry folding can wait another day in honor of all the festivities.

Birthdays have a way of serving as a checkpoint or annual review of sorts.  Here's mine in a nutshell, with plenty left out but enough both to work at and build upon...

Things I thought I would be better at by now:

• getting kids to sleep 
• staying calm in the face of a temper tantrum or prolonged fussing
• going to bed

Things I'm pretty good at (surprisingly):

• using silliness or humor to convey instructions or cut through kvetching 
• laundry stain-fighting (knock on wood)

Things I am getting better at:

• getting things done -- not everything and not all the time, but more often, even if I have to chip away at whatever it is a little bit at a time
• winnowing down the number of things at which I am multitasking so that I can complete at least some of them before starting new ones
• getting dinner on the table
• staying on top of the laundry (sort of) 
• estimating the amount of time tasks actually take to accomplish
• arriving some place on time (or at least closer to it)

Things I'm not so good at (still):

• going to bed 
• making decisions

For my birthday buddies and me I pray that by God's grace, the year ahead may bring continued growth and understanding, peace and fortitude for the journey still to come, and laughter to bridge the expanse between expectations and reality.   Sleep would be good, too.

little things

happiness is...

...a sack of fresh library books and a favorite pair of "clip clops"
(and a washing machine back in business, with many thanks to my handy husband)

good news • bad news • good eats

This can't be good:

our washing machine presently

...especially when we're going on a week with a nasty virus afflicting most of us (the elder lad and I are the holdouts).  One might expect that a few days with an offline washer might mean I'd catch up a little, but alas this is not the case.

Downer as that may be, I am happy to report that the elder lad has been branching out a bit from his standard fare, eating more fresh fruit and even some vegetables.  He says broccoli is his favorite, but he and his sister (the three-year-old elder lass) made short work of some of our backyard garden-fresh peas.

Lass could use a manicure.

We had planned to use those peas in a stir-fry for dinner, but our little field hands took a hefty "fee" for their picking work.  That's alright. 

Speaking of stir-frying, that's what I'm writing about today at Foodie Proclivities.  Check it out here.  Have I ever mentioned that my beloved and I lived in the same high-rise residence hall for a semester but never once met?

He lived in the guys' tower and I lived in the girls' tower, but the two towers shared a cafeteria with a wok station (about which I reminisce further in the post at Foodie Proclivities; please do click over).

I can't help but wonder how many times we were in that cafeteria -- maybe even wok-ing -- at the same time.  The Lord sure does have a sense of humor.  He knew it wasn't yet time for us to meet.  I had to work on my stir-frying skills...

hand wash only

The elder lass seeks me out with some important information...
"Mom. There's a stomp rocket on the washer."
 from a recent field trip one of the lads took to the Air and Space Museum

 

"Does it need to be washed?" I ask her.

The look on her face is answer enough, but just to be clear she responds indignantly,

"No!  Stomp rockets don't go in the washer!" 

Which doesn't mean it wouldn't happen, which might precipitate this...

 ... and that wouldn't be good.

if you give a girl a party...

Among the many books the elder lass counts as her "favorites," the If You Give... series written by Laura Joffe Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond are easily her "most favorite."  We first became acquainted with these charming books when my beloved's mother loaned to us the copy of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie that they had received from my beloved's grandmother. We still have it.  Good thing she's not charging us overdue fees!

Several books have followed, including one a about pig and pancake (and a party, in a separate story); a moose and a muffin; "Cookie Mouse" (as the lass calls the original title character) and the movies; and most recently, a dog and a donut.  Each story is a study in cause and effect, starting with logical consequences like the mouse wanting milk to go with his cookie unfolding into sillier scenarios such as the mouse wanting to take a nap and needing the kind boy who gave him the cookie in the first place to make up a little nest for the mouse's nap.  It all circles back to the beginning, with the title critter wanting whatever it was that had first attracted his or her attention and the attendant child exhausted from all the requests.

 For her third birthday festivities almost two months ago, the elder lass said she wanted "rainbows" when queried.  My beloved's mother had the great idea to create a party for her with the If You Give friends all invited (along with grandparents, siblings, and Annie -- my sister and the lass's godmother; a small group for our reserved but so sweet lass), and she and my beloved's father (who the bambini call "Papere") generously offered to both host the party and come up with all the games and decorations.  All we had to do was handle the cake ("cookie cake", the lass specified) and show up.

Sweet.

Grandmare was really in her element creating this party, as early childhood is one of her passions. She has such a heart for children, boundless creativity, and a talent for creating beautiful .  The result in this case was a beautiful, perfect party for their first granddaughter, who was thrilled with the result.

The If You Give friends and their books, ready for the birthday girl to arrive.

We made the cookie cake at home together using this recipe (but substituting white whole wheat flour for the all-purpose), which the lass enjoyed very much because she got to work the mixer.  To decorate it, we made homemade sprinkles -- yep: homemade -- because I'm mildly concerned that store-bought sprinkles may have a half life somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,000 years *and *because I had seen the idea and thought it would be a fun project for us.

Can't you see it now?  A mixer full of sticky goo that we then tint with food coloring (as in *doesn't wash out*), put in a cone made of parchment paper, squeeze out into lines on a lined baking sheet, and leave out to dry for several *days*.  Go ahead and think it: That was crazy! But they came out alright and certainly looked festive once sprinkled onto the cookie cake.  Next time... I'm not sure there'll be a next time.

sprinkle strands before the lads had their way with them.

The bambini thoroughly enjoyed the games Grandmare designed herself, including Pin the Cupcake on the Platter, a rainbow-themed cake walk of sorts, and Toss the Piggies in the Pen.  She made a beautiful rainbow of fruit with a cloud of whipped cream to dip them in, and she served a tasty meal that the lass loved.

The birthday girl and the Pin the Cupcake on the Platter game with the If You Give friends (and the younger lad, who lives in his overalls)

This book-themed birthday celebration was just the thing for our sweet Rainbow Girl, the one who usually wants to read and snuggle more than anything else, who fancies herself a ballerina, and who brings such joy to us by her presence.

a work in progress

Sometimes I think this motherhood business is, aside from that whole tending to and helping form the immortal souls of our children thing, one continual lesson in time management.  In fact, I might go so far as to say that after putting someone else's needs (or several someones') before one's own, time management might be the next lesson learned -- or at least taught -- in Mom School.  I wouldn't exactly call myself an eager student of this exercise in self-discipline, but nonetheless I am still enrolled and sticking with it.

Over the past six months I've adopted a couple of strategies to better manage time and domestic responsibilities.  For example, I now consider the time between our arrival home from school until the time we have dinner together as my "kitchen hour," a term and concept I learned from The Happiest Mom.   After school snacks are dished up; water bottles and reusable lunch containers are washed; folders with school paperwork and things that need my signature/attention/action are assessed; the dishwasher is unloaded; and dinner preparations are undertaken.  All of this an attempt to get dinner served sooner rather than later, since we only have a little while between my beloved arrives home from work until Lights Out and want to make the most of it.   

Another area I've been working diligently on is laundry -- specifically, the folding and stowing of laundry.   The sight of an overloaded "clean" laundry basket (denoted as such with labels on the handles and separate from the baskets we use to collect clothes that need to be washed) with clean clothes spilling over it and all around is so very discouraging that I usually keep right on walking past it.  If I can keep it to one or two loads of clean laundry to fold at a time, that's far more manageable.  The bambini are responsible for putting their laundry away.  They each have their own ways of fulfilling this task.  The elder lad employs his big rig.  The younger lad makes his arms into a forklift to carry his clothes.  The elder lass hugs all her clothes to her body and flits to the closet on tiptoe.  The younger lass -- of course -- makes sure we know which clothes are hers: "I shirt."

And then there is the subject of bedtime -- as in mine.  I'm still the most obstinate sleep fighter in this household, staying up later than I ought to most of the time. In the past several months I've been working to change that.  In the past week, I haven't done so well to that end.

All of these concessions, studies, and strides in time management are done in the name of a more smoothly-running household thanks to the comfort of routine and clear expectations for all.  Although I am still trying to figure out how -- or whether -- to fit in little (or not so little) projects here and there, the effort is paying off as each of these salad days draws to its conclusion.

Thank you, Lord, for this day and for all your many gifts and blessings...

famous last words

The Lord has blessed our region with abundant rainfall the past few days, bringing relief to parched land (and fried senses). Temperatures in the 90s are a welcome reprieve from day after day (after day after day, and into the nighttime hours) of daytime highs upwards of 110 degrees.

With all this rain, it's mud season revisited.

Standing at the window watching the rain (for which we are so grateful), the lads can barely contain themselves and their desire to get out there and play in the rain. I can understand that. I also know, though, that the deluged planter boxes with what was our vegetable garden before the heat spell scorched it now thick with mud will prove too tempting to lads who claim they only want to go outside to wash their dirty, dusty trucks. As I was not in a position to clean up a huge muddy mess this morning, their request was denied, with empathy.

They promised they wouldn't get in the mud, which I believe was sincere. Such a promise is no match for the kind of mud we're dealing with, though. It's the stuff of mythical monster truck rallies.

Acknowledging their disappointment but holding my ground, I tried to offer some equally enticing indoor activity ideas, such as putting their clean laundry away.

(I'm a kill-joy, remember, but the elder lad at least did oblige.)

In a last-ditch effort to obtain the elusive permission by promising (again) to stay away from the mud, the elder lad made one final appeal.

"You can trust me. I'm a six-year-old."

Epilogue: The bambini reveled in the soggy sandbox at my beloved's parents' house this afternoon while I went to get a haircut.  When we got home (and with my permission), they practically ran straight from the garage to the back door to their happy little mud hole.  Just as I expected -- and just as it should be, they were soon covered in enough goo to warrant the moniker "mud bugs" when they came in.  They knew to head straight for the laundry room, then the shower. 

And every day the elder lad is growing in trustworthiness, becoming more and more of a "big kid."

fresh start

After such a long hiatus from this venture, it's difficult to choose a starting point.

Do I give a rundown of what's been going around here, from eleven-month-old baby girls walking and big sisters championing milestones of their own?  Or should I rhapsodize on the blessing it has been to have all four bambini together (most of the time) and a reprieve from the pressure of the early morning school preparations?  I couldn't write about that without an accompanying long-winded expression of gratitude who have made it possible for me to have some regularly-scheduled and sorely-needed downtime to regroup and renew. 

Perhaps a minor victory in the sustained management of the family laundry load -- if only I have the self-discipline (and free hands -- which when I have two of those together I generally prefer typing chronicle entries to household chores) to fold the laundry one or two loads at a time soon after it's finished washing and drying -- and the developing sense of responsibility three-fourths of the bambini have for putting their laundry away? 

And whither all those book reviews that have gone uncomposed and unposted? 

The real explanation for the silence, though, is in the daily application of effort, attention, and will to making peace with the present, often chaotic conditions -- trying to bring peace to those situations where peace is lacking, especially within my own heart.  For that, it's been a matter of praying for the grace to be open to receiving the love of God and the strength he gives to fulfill the duties he's entrusted to us.

It's meant a diversion of my attention from crafting sentences and stringing deep (such as they are) thoughts together and instead being present in the moment, acquiescing to going several directions at once, and knowing that's exactly where I'm meant to be.

I'm still here.

A recent spate of stormy weather coinciding with an overnight business trip for my beloved requiring that I drive like mom one morning in the midst of many end-of-Kindergarten festivities for the elder lad has spelled a drought for this chronicle.  I'm still here, though, with a laundry list of salient topics (but lots of laundry to keep on, lest it bury me alive) in my mental queue.  So please stick with me...

likely story

me: "What's that on your shirt, babe?" as the elder lad boards the Honeywagon after school.
him: "I think it's mud."

me: "that's a strange place for mud -- it's just a little bit and right at your collar."
him: no comment.

me: "I ask because I want to know how to treat the stain."
him: "It's chocolate milk.  I got it because it's Thursday -- almost Friday."
*As in, bring on the weekend!  Chocolate milk all around!
 
I've used this logic myself, but the shirt still hasn't come clean...

git 'er done

 Would you look at that?!  Clean, folded, *and* ready for delivery.  Now where's that cute five-year-old truck driver?? 

best medicine

With temperatures now in the 50s and 60s as opposed to those hovering around zero last week, the blanket of snow that tucked us in at home for a good ten days or so (with a few exceptions) is melting rapidly.  In spite of all my yammering about cabin fever and cracking of potty jokes, I must admit the time spent at home was -- for the most part -- peaceful, pleasant, and suffused with grace.

Still, humbling as it is to admit, I am prone to gloominess at the prospect of being unable to get out and about at my whim.  When I sense this mood coming on, I try to put it in perspective by thinking of the untold numbers of people who simply do not have the same freedom due to infirmity or even political circumstance.   Such realizations help snap me out of my pity party.  

We are humbly blessed to have been able to retreat from the world and ride out the impassable conditions without much recourse.  My beloved was able to work from home (albeit with one or more bambini pressing noses up to the glass in his home office door wanting to make appointments with him), and we pretty much stuck to the routine (ever-evolving as it may be).  I was truly grateful not to have to answer to the alarm clock after the usual multiple rousings each night to tend to one or more bambini.  And my laundry-folding table stayed refreshingly visible throughout the week, as I was able to process the loads of clean laundry in smaller batches rather than chipping away at the usual mountainous pile. 

On Friday the elder lad returned to school, and we went to school Mass.   It was our first real outing in a week.  Our Kindergartner sat with us this time rather than with his class as he usually does because we were celebrating Catholic Schools Week -- observed a week behind schedule because of the snow days the previous week -- and there had been a special invitation issued to families for this particular Mass (not that they aren't always welcome at school Mass, because they are).  After receiving Communion, I watched the elder lad walking ahead of me spontaneously grasp his little brother's hand as they navigated through the lines of people back to our pew.  I thought I just might dissolve in a puddle of Mama mush at the sight of it.

The white out of the past two weeks is now a colorful memory.  We were all definitely ready for a change of scenery.  Emerging from our cave to go to Mass was more than that, though.  As it had been for us the first week of the snowstorm when we'd gotten out to go to Sunday Mass at our home parish, school Mass on Friday was the best medicine ever prescribed.

internal memo

Dear Bonnie,

I see you literally going in circles, overwhelmed by the (not so) little things here and there and everywhere, cluttered counter tops, and the ever-growing mountain of clean laundry awaiting proper stowage, unsure where to start and much preferring to stand here at the computer and write or play the piano or -- heaven forbid -- go to sleep.

Just pick up the nearest thing out of place and put it where it goes.  Continue likewise for as long or as little time you have before the next feeding, diaper change, or fisticuffs between brothers.

Remember that this season of your life is about being present to the little ones in your midst -- obliging when they bring you a book (or three) to read, building, baking, and playing cars with them.  This effort shows its fruit in the spontaneous hugs from your Kindergartner, the cheeky grins from your three-month-old lassie, the notice from your three year old that "you're a keeper," and the commentary  "hug -- kiss -- beep [on the nose]" as your funny girl bestows these things upon you.

The most pressing household needs are met with determination, focus, and perseverance. The rest don't matter so much.  The bambini will eventually be self-sufficient.  God willing, they will remember that you were present to them, even as you tried to "get things done."

Laundry, dishes, diapers, and messes are all signs of the life that dwells within this home, the life of a family abundantly blessed -- and commissioned -- by the love of Christ. 

You may feel like you are so far behind, but when you're mothering your children and caring for your beloved the way you've discerned God calls you to, you're exactly where God wills you to be.  

Peace to you.

love~
me

me in their eyes

I'm still not sure what to make of the lads' perception of me -- their mama famous for cleaning (notice he didn't say "laundry") but not so good at scaling the outside of the stairs.  It's funny the things that resonate with kids.  

For example, we do build with blocks a lot, but we also spend a lot of time reading together.  The mall is not my favorite place (but it might be the younger lad's -- he sure does like the play area), and while I indeed like ice cream, I'm surprised the elder lad didn't say "chocolate" or "coffee" were my favorite.  I bet the lass will when I  interview her.   Clever girl is wise to the presence of my secret chocolate stash.

When I query them again as I plan to, I wonder how differently they'll respond.  Here's hoping they'll both still respond that "I love you" is something I say to them a lot.  That's the impetus behind everything I do, and always will be.

welcome to my world

where Legos and laundry peacefully (peaceably?) coexist.

twiddling our thumbs (or not)

We're keeping ourselves busy with projects around here:

The elder lad made a necklace for me.
My beloved and my dad brewed some beer.
We baked a double batch of cookies.
And -- of course -- the laundry continues.

Quattro is on to our tactics, still holding out...

overdue

Things to do when you're overdue*:

• pray 
• laundry
• canvas the entire expanse of local mall, both floors, with three children and their grandmother; be sure to include a fun lunch
• lie down and rest -- even if the bambini don't -- so long as the grandmother is still up for wrangling them
• snuggle with said three bambini
• pray
• sip a favorite beverage (even if it is hotter than Hades outside) after the bambini zonk out in the car on the way home after traipsing all over the mall but not resting at siesta time
• laundry
• read books with the bambini
• feather the nest for loved ones arriving to help
• rearrange the kitchen counter top accessories
• pray
• build things with the bambini
• brush up on newborn care and nursing fundamentals
• laundry
• get a pedicure, massage, chiropractic adjustment, or any combination thereof
• bake something with the bambini
• pray
• laundry

*Really, the due date is more of a general "expected" date and is just one day in a window of a few weeks when the baby is "due" .  Every person and pregnancy is different.  Just goes to show: babies come in God's time. 

nesting: family-style

While we wait on the stork to bring Quattro, the whole family is in on this nesting business.  Yesterday the lads helped* my beloved clean up the Bambini Ride and rearrange the car seats to make room for a fourth one.  Both lads are now in the "way back."  Mama is hopeful there will be a minimum of fisticuffs. 

*by "helped", I mean they unearthed the younger lad's long-missing favorite ball cap, helped vacuum up a school of Goldfish crackers, wiped down seats scuffed with footprints, then climbed into the front and pretended to be driving their firetruck.  This was followed by some construction with PVC pipe outside the vehicle which soon devolved into whacking things.

The washer is on overdrive, laundering teensy tiny (or "tinsy", as the elder lad used to say when he was about the lass's age) baby clothes, blankets, bedding for the helping hands who will be staying with us once Quattro comes home, and car seat covers (in addition to the usual queue).  The current incarnation of our drinkable yogurt recipe is posted prominently on the fridge for hasty refills.  We're baking things in big batches to "feed the freezer" -- pancakes, cookies, muffins...

The recently-unearthed infant carrier is drawing lots of attention.  The lads have each tested to see if they can fit in it (just barely) and laugh at the thought of themselves small enough to have been strapped in.  The lass says "baby! baby!" and tucks her baby doll safely inside.

I'm wondering if Quattro will have dark hair like my beloved's, sea glass-colored eyes like the elder lad's, or his or her own unique combination of features and coloring.  And speaking of "his" versus "her", will Quattro even the gender score in this household or tip the scales even further? 

We're so looking forward to meeting you, Quattro.  We love you already.

tiny bubbles

We're still trying to figure out what is causing the elder lad to have these flare ups of itchiness.  We don't think it's peanut butter (thankfully).  While it might be owing to something food-related, it just might be having to do with the laundry detergent we've been using lately. 

We've long used a "free and clear" brand, but I haven't been able to find it in the concentration we need for our front-loader washer (persnickety thing that it is).  I switched to another brand a few weeks ago -- one labeled as "all natural", free and clear, and all that, and that's about the time he started having these episodes. Maybe there's something to that.

Yesterday I was able to find the other detergent and am going to revert back to it for a few weeks to see if that helps.  If it does, we might just order it by the case.  That kinda takes laundry to a whole new level, doesn't it? 

At the rate we do laundry around here, I can only imagine how quickly we will go through such a staggering amount of detergent.  With multiple young children, it's just another fact of life -- like running the dishwasher increasingly more often. If we're considering ordering it by the case, why not have it trucked in by tanker and held for use in a re-purposed propane tank or something?   The lads would flip.out. 

I am grateful for these homekeeping realities because they speak to the life of this growing family, where each person is uniquely precious.  Here's hoping the laundry detergent switcheroo does the trick for the itchiness.