in five minutes, a sample

Mama, will Henry get his own Christmas tree?
Probably not.

Mama, what is there to eat?
Have an apple.

Mama, Jack doesn't do it fair.
We all know this.

Mama, I can't get my pajamas arms sort outed.
I can help with that.

::whine::
(ignore)

Mama, I'm hungry.
Have an apple.

Mama, I want a glass of water.
How would you say that if you really wanted a glass of water?
Mama, please I may have a glass of water?
Thank you.

Mama, can Henry play your iPad?
Not right now.
Well, when, then?
I don't know, maybe later.

Mama, can I have a coffee?
Can is a question of ability. 'May I' is a question of permission. You *can* drink coffee, but you may not.

Mama, I'm still hungry.
Did you eat an apple?
No.
Perhaps you will eat an apple?

Mama, do I have to empty the dishwasher?
Yes.
But I don't wanna.
Do you want to eat dinner?
Yes.
But I don't wanna make dinner.
Fine.

Mama, there's nothing to do.
How about some math?
::whine face::
Read a book?
::same face::
Play outside?
::same face, more feigned pain::
Legos?
::whine face + whine noise::
Stare at the wall? Go to bed?
I'll go outside.
What a good idea.

Mama, is there anything to eat?
Yes. There is. May I suggest an apple?

autumn

The season changed, so I stopped by to say hello. Things are still ever so much as they always are, filled with people growing fatter then taller, out of their jeans and too big for their britches. There is schooling, canning, bread-making, pie baking, and lots of working. 

And let me not forget the very exciting things, like paying the (HUGE and TOTALLY INAPPROPRIATELY IRRESPONSIBLE) fine on my library card, and being allowed to, once again, borrow books from the library. The short people are ecstatic. So is the library.

***

I was knitting in church last night. I knit so I don't chew my fingernails to bloody stumps. Bloody stumps are so unattractive, and knitting is so very attractive, so I thought I had found a suitable alternative to the bloody stump situation. Alas, my knitting was deemed Quite Grievous by the preacher, so much, in fact, that he called me out in front of the congregation. "I'm glad I have your attention now," he boomed. "You had my attention all along," I retorted, "I just ran out of yarn."

Flip comment brought further pastoral consternation and giggles from the peanut gallery. Explanation of, and apology for the Theory of Bloody Stumpage to the preacher did nothing to redeem me. Alas.

***

Elliott has rewritten the lyrics to "Call Me Maybe". Highlights include this gem:

dis is crazy

here's Grandma's number

call her later

Kid has a future in songwriting. His other hit is the one-line-wonder I'm Not Going Home. We hear it more than most people hear Carly Rae and Gotye. Way more. 

***

In a really long and drawn out series of bad decisions, one of my children told me that my name should really be Ass Pamela, or better yet, Ass Aardvark. Because nothing makes soap taste worse than poorly-timed alliteration. At least, I imagine that nothing could make soap taste any worse than it tastes despite my negligible knowledge of soap tastes. The Mister tried it and said that pomegranate-orange goat's milk soap was not much of a punishment, but it has been nearly a week, and The Perp hasn't referred to me as an Ass Aardvark again, so maybe it was effective. We'll see.

***

Anything exciting in your neck of the woods?

update

Dear ones, The good news is that I have a new doctor, a TMD specialist, who understands why I am having migraines and is confident that he knows how to fix me and make my pain disappear. The bad news is that the poking, prodding, manipulating and maneuvering has given me the worst head pain I have had in my entire life. I am not a girl who cries very much for any reason, but for the past two days tears have been spilling down my cheeks because of the pain. On Monday I return to the doctor's office for two and a half more hours of testing, and I cannot have any pain meds for 12 hours before the test. I am terrified. I can usually see things pretty rationally, but I am freaking out. The thought of hurting more than I hurt right now is just too much. So please, if you are one who prays, pray for me. For peace, for relief, for patience with this process. If you aren't a pray-er, do your thing for me. I hear things seem darkest right before they are fixed, and if that's true, I anticipate something truly wonderful. I just need to make it from right now until then. Thanks.

hey, you guys.

Everybody is crying here. Or punching other people in the mouth. Some are doing both. All the long-faced whiney-pantses were up by seven, which is completely abnormal. We do not do mornings here. 

 Elliott is currently laying on his belly, on two pillows, on the sofa, with his legs flopped up and over the back of said sofa. He is kicking himself in the butt, every couple of kicks he says, "I win!" Perhaps he will nap; 9:30 a.m. naps are divine. 

 I don't actually KNOW if they are divine, as I do not remember having a 9:30 nap. I assume they are divine. I believe in naps.

**** 

 Short list of things, other than crying and punches in the mouth, that have happened: 

1. Elliott turned three, and has embraced 3-ness with every ounce of his being. 
2. The H-bomb has announced his intention to learn the bagpipes. 
3. The village where we live told us we had to get rid of our chickens because we were in violation of the zoning ordinances. 
4. I turned 35. 
5. I got a job. (I typed "I got a Jon". But I already had a Jon.) 
6. I remembered some things from my childhood that explain a LOT. 
7.  I got a tattoo. 

 **** 

 Speaking of how awesome three year-olds are, mine is forever chewing on his shirt. Every time I turn around, kid is chomping away. Super gross. Tell me how to make this stop. It's gross, and he's wet and that is gross and have I mentioned gross? Is there some sort of clothing pepper spray that I can apply to deter him? 

 **** 

 I would also like to mention, in regards to Item 3 in the list up there, that there is a village resident who lives in close proximity to the mayor, who has a rooster. This rooster crows all day long. I can hear it in my house. Did that guy (or woman) get a zoning violation notice? NO. For the record, I do not care even the tiniest bit that I can hear the rooster. I like them in other people's yards. I just think the general Ignoring The Premise Of Equal Application Of The Law is ridiculous. But whatever, to each village, its own... Ummm... choices to ignore the Constitution and the Bill of Rights ??? and stuff??? The whole story is another post for another day. 

My people seem to have settled down, so I'm going to see if I can get them to do something useful. Wish me luck.

so that happened.

I drove to Canada yesterday. It`s really not that big of a deal to drive to Canada from where I live, it takes a little bit more than an hour if nobody needs to stop to pee.

My plan had been to cross into Canada at the Peace Bridge, which connects Niagara Falls, NY, USA with Niagara Falls, ON, Canada. That didn`t happen because someone was talking or punching someone else and I was distracted.  Fortunately, there are LOTS of options for entering Canada legally, and we got stuff sorted out and all was well.

The Canadian border agent was very nice, because, well, he was Canadian, and it`s a law or something that they have to be nice. I presented him with the many birth certificates, my ID, and the notarized permission slip The Mister had drafted that said I was allowed to leave the US with our children. When we finished, Henry said I like that guy, and by Ì like that guy, I mean I LIKE HIS GUN. 

Okay, then.

We went to Ikea, because it was on the way and I believe in being practical, and also nothing says GOOD TIME like a shopping cart that doesn`t turn and four kids in flip flops. 

We had about 2 hours left of our trip, which meant it was the perfect time for the GPS (borrowed from the in-laws) to become possessed by the devil and the anti-saint of good travel and the whole trip went straight to hell in the handbasket most commonly known as my supercool minivan.

North on the QEW. NO WAIT!!!! Turn around and go south on the QEW. NO WAIT!!! turn around, turn around, recalculating, recalculating, no satellite contact, recalculating....OH SCREW IT YOU`RE LOST. SORRY ABOUT YOUR LUCK.

Also... no cell phone service.  Did I mention I was alone. (That was a question, honest, but the Canadian computer keyboard has the French accent grave enabled where the US question mark should be.) And more also... no actual written down address of the place we were going. Because nothing helps when trying to locate a house in another country as much as not having an address.

FOUR HOURS LATER, we arrived at our destination. 

Olivia was quick to inform our hosts that I was using some VERY VERY VERY bad language, and that somehow the boys didn`t notice. Direct quote: I honestly can`t imagine how that happened, though. Yeah, me neither.

Anybody have an awesome travelling alone with the short people story (yes, this is a question). Do tell.

i know.

i remembered.

i know who you are, and i know what you did.
i think i always knew, somewhere, in my innermost hiding-place self.
but last week, i remembered.

oddly enough, i'm not angry.
i'm disappointed, disgusted, sad.

you took what was not yours, and not just from me.
i was not the only one.
i.know.who.you.are.
and so do you.

hiatus

We are unplugging the internet over here.
It's not because we dislike the internet,
but because we like other things more.
Things like, say, owning our home, heating our home, eating.
You get the picture.
If you miss me terribly, you can email me *the*dayton*time*at*gmail*dot*com.
Or if you have my number, you can give me a call or text me a little love note.
And I will check into the effbooks from time to time.
I will also be paying attention to my etsy shop every few days.
Be well, y'all.

this is what's up

Moved furniture yesterday. And still today. Gah. It is taking two days because every time I think I am finished sweeping and vacuuming, someone dumps something vile or crumb-filled on the floor. Or furniture. Or someone needs to eat. Or have a diaper changed.

And sometimes I need a break because OH MY GOODNESS IT IS BLOODY EXHAUSTING UP IN HERE.

My biggest baby turned nine this week. Woah.

My smallest baby is in love with mashed potatoes.

My washing machine is either broken or possessed by a wicked demon. It beeps continually, and plays dead in the middle of a cycle. Good times... THAT WILL COST ME A BAJILLION DOLLARS.

My iPad recognizes the word BAJILLION, but not the word WOAH.

I took all four of my people to the dentist in their pajamas yesterday. There was more than 65% refusal rate, and I was not going to be charged with a cancellation fee, so pajamas it was. I'm going to count that as a win, because, well, I can.

I found a Craigslist post for a whole lot of wool fabric. I think I will buy it to make coats for the boys.

My third babe likes to dress monochromatically. Today it's red. Red sweater (no alligator) and red corduroy pants. Usually it's yellow.

The fourth and final child has been tormenting the cats lately. I tend toward natural consequence-style parenting, and I have not stopped the cats from slapping him with their claws out. And the beating he is taking from the cats is not stopping him from beating the cats. Hmmm.

We are dyeing play silks later today, and a cashmere sweater-pants-cap set that I made from a slightly hole-y cardigan. Then we will make pizza and watch The Wizard of Oz. And then maybe some Harry Potter. And maybe some popcorn.

Also and finally? I want some slipcovers for my furnitures.

That is all. Carry on.

is this thing on?

I haven't had much to say.  Really. 

The weather has been gorgeous. I did a lot of sewing and knitting. We schooled and unschooled and field-tripped. The Mister is enjoying his dream job, and we have been enjoying having him at home two days a week now that Christmas is over. 

Jack has taken to wearing one of two black hooded sweatshirts constantly, inspiring Henry to wear any of my wool sweaters that he can squirm inside fastest. Elliott? Well, he would prefer to get dressed and never, ever change his clothes, NOT! EVER! And speaking of not ever? That never changing his clothes is not ever going to happen.

It's odd to have started a hibernation of sorts while the weather has been so balmy, but now that it's cold and snowy and actually doing things that seem like winter outside, I'm in full hibernation mode. Lots of school happens on or near the sofa, buried in heaps of quilts, with hot cocoa and popcorn. The cocoa and popcorn make it a Hip and Fun School Party and not Boring Drudgery, or at least that's what I am trying to get them to believe.

I've discovered that a three-inch-long cuff on mittens is not nearly long enough to protect the tender arms. I think I'm just going to knit knee-length tube socks, and add a thumb hole. And by knee-length, I mean The Size To Fit From My Knee To My Toes, Even For Elliott. I am also going to only knit them in one color and size, so that there is always a pair.

Does anybody else struggle with mittens? They make me crazy. We seem to be able to keep our hats, but it's the mittens that give me problems. I just know they have formed a little mitten conspiracy and are planning to go into hiding. Stinkers.

A fuzzy-footed little man has just climbed into my lap, asking me to "daw a bawoon pease." I think I'll oblige him.