Luck o' the Lears

All of this luck could have been yours. The house across the street sat empty for two years, until finally George moved in. Now, he is sitting on a lawn full of luck. Behold, the luck of the Lear children, as they plunder George's clover patch:

 And, my professional natural clover press. Good thing this is not a cooking post! That would not be lucky, not lucky at all my wee friends. Trust that Lucky Rickey had this in his possession well before I came along.

This press cookbook is good for many things, as you can see by the word "supreme" in the title. But it is most often used for clovers. (Maybe there's a recipe in there for them, I wouldn't be surprised.)

Your next question may echo my own: What the heck kind of chemical has been applied to that lawn, to have it produce such massive quantities of mutant multiple-leaf clover? Jadyn & Cole both found FIVE leaf clovers this week, and at that point, I said "Enough! Enough already! This suddenly does not seem lucky anymore! Wash your hands with soap right now!" Or something to that effect, but definitely at that decibel level. 

My next thought: Just wait, a clever and botanically-trained reader, will email me to inform me and my lucky offspring that these are not in fact clovers at all, but some other common weed. I'm ready.

Until then... Happy St. Patty's Day! You would truly be lucky if your yard had my kids pile into it every day looking for these elusive little buggers!

Fever time

It's time again, that fever time. The kids all know it, the kids all feel it. When I walk with my 1st grade reading groups at school, they are all eager like puppies, leaping and jostling and telling me stories. No more quiet, whispered tales. They sashay, skip, leap the cracks, stay on the white tiles, hug the wall and most importantly - do not ever simply walk to the library. (Unless you are Sam. Reliable, constant, controlled Sam.) I tease them, I call them "Dude!" and I tell them to zip their lips. "Let's all do it together, and this time... make it stick! Zip! Dude, I'm here to r-e-a-d!"
It is impossible. Spring is coming. It is coming out their pores and dribbling from their mouths and most of all wiggling through their entire bodies. They are sincere in every way: Sincerely the Best at Reading. Sincerely the best at Basketball. Sincerely the Most Well-Read. Sincerely the Most Bedecked with Jewelry, and they must convince me at every turn of this ultimate standing. Unless of course, they are not the Best and instead are the Quietest. And to the Quietest, I squeeze small shoulders and whisper sweet praise, for being Quiet is an honor all it's own.
My 1st grader watches all of this hullaballoo. My other 1st grader also watches. One claims her place at my side. The other smirks and claims my hand. It is the only time they do not vie for attention. They own it. These are not siblings to compete with, all is well. My 1st grader has grown 3 and a quarter inches in the past year. I look longingly at the small ones; I look wonderingly at the giant one. True to her nature, she is best friends once again with a small one. Small and bossy goes along with gentle giant. My other girl has chosen a chatty one. The listening one goes along with the chattery one.
All is well.
Balanced.
Yet...Out of whack, because remember?
Spring is coming!
Sing cuckoo!

A Boy and His Reward

There once was a boy

who had a weather curl

right on the side of his forehead.

When he was good, he was very, very good

But when he was bad he was horrid.

(couldn't resist that classic!)

**************************************

The boy would toilet here and there

But most often chose his underwear

The Mommy would plead, then scrape and clean

Promising treats and toys in between

the washing and drying, the scrubbing and spray

The boy made a game of it, most every day

'Til finally, Eureka! 

Success and a cheer!

The boy made his choice

to earn a toy he held dear.

He made his deposit, day after day

Excitedly pleading and ready to play

The Mommy held firm, unsure of her win

She made him prove it, again and again

Then one day, long after the scene of delight

The process was finished, (who knows who won that fight...)

The reward was obtained and presented to the boy

With ceremony, clapping and great sibling joy

I did it! I did it!

He pumped his fist and cheered

And an awesome Buzz Lightyear 

For takeoff was cleared.

(And irony of ironies, Buzz Lightyear says: "Reporting for duty, Ranger!" and the echo we hear: 

"Haha! He said Doody, Ranger!"

Going...going...

Today is an auction, consisting of one original piece of artwork.

This unique piece of art was handcrafted from the finest molding clay.

It was inspired by a 5th grade unit on famous artists, and was produced by the budding talent I call my son. Clearly his education is on the right track. To somewhere. I offer you this piece today, because as my online friends, you deserve to get in on the ground floor. You deserve the first chance to own... this. This... This...

Well, let's just start the bidding.

And the bidding starts at...

ohpleasegodgetthisTHINGoutofmyhousetodaybecauseican'tstopgiggling

ANDthekidsarebeginningtoaskwhywhywhyandI'mwonderingwhatwhatWHATthepoor

teacherthoughtandhowshecouldcontrolherlaughterandexpressionandiSAWhertodayandshe

didn'tevenwarnmeTHISwascominghometodaytobeceremoniouslyplacedonmycounter

rightnexttothesnacksanddrinks!

Go ahead, bid! I'll put it right in the mail.

If you give another girl...

...an early pick-up due to "headache," she will want a repeat of what you did with Girl 1 the day before. (how did I see this coming? :))

And do I really need to recount that? No. No I do not.

Let's just go straight to the ice cream part and call it a day.

The warning has been issued: any school clinic calls that I receive had better be accompanied by a fever and/or verifiable illness. (Sure, I said it that nicely!) I mean, it was only 4 days of sick (or WERE they?) kids. Anyone can handle that, and an out-of-town husband! WhatamI a wimp?

Yes.

Yes I am. (tearfully wailing)

I have administered, in the past 5 days, the appropriate remedy for fever, cough, headache, neck ache, stomach ache, knee ache, bottom ache, hiney ache, thigh ache, ankle ache and one rash ache that should probably be seen by a professional. Seriously.

If it's a-aching, it's in my house. (Only 2 of those were my aches. Nope. Not the knee ache! Guess again!)

Let's move on!

Soon you will see how I channel serenity in the midst of illness-inspired chaos. Soon, I say. Soon! I'm finishing the last of a project. Because when the aches hit, it is not calgon that takes me away. And it is certainly not a bout of cleaning. (Though the lysol does come out by the time the second child is down.)

No, no, I gird my sanity with thoughts of basicgrey craft papers and inspiring rub-ons.

Don't you?! Please, please, calm down, rub-ons are not what you may or may not be thinking. Unless you're thinking a desk, a popsicle stick and some applied pressure. Gotcha! You were thinking that!

These rub-ons say sweet nothings like Dare to dream, Believe in yourself, happiness, cherish and giggle. Too sweet, too sweet, you will see, you will see.

Until then, I bid you adieu, and promise you I will acknowledge Happy Friday with the self-administering of a dose of the appropriate medicine.

Happy Friday kids... now everybody sleep through the night!

If you give a girl...

...a pass to stay home with a mild tummy ache, she will want to go to Target.

When you go to Target, she will want to buy some new jeans. And some cute magnets.

If you say yes to the jeans and magnets, she will want to get some angel hair pasta for dinner.

If you say yes to the pasta, she will ask (pleasepleaseplease) for the wuggle pets that are on sale.

If you say okay to the wuggle pets, she will ask for a treat at the checkout. When she has the treat in hand (and mouth), she will feel up to going into Costco with you next.

While you are in Costco, she will want her favorite crab dip (as her tummy is now only aching a little). Once the crab dip is in the cart, she will stop to look at hello kitty swimsuits. She will ask for two of them, but settle for one very cute ruffly one. On the way to the checkout, she will ask for a frozen yogurt (as her tummy is now perfectly fine). Once she has the swimsuit, the crab dip and the frozen yogurt in hand, she will want to go straight home.

And when you keep a girl at home for the day, it costs a lot of money.

Nicknames

A while back I was in the market for a nickname.

Maybe because I am a regular nicknamer, and rarely call my family by their real names, I thought it was time that I had one as well. I tossed a few around, trying them on for size and appropriate superhero-ish-ness. One friend calls me The B, and that seemed short and a propos, but nothing stuck. I went on being regular me.

Until this week.

I have a nickname now, and wow it is a doozy.

I am....

The Crusher! Roooaaaar!

(Thanks Rick)

I know. I know, you're wondering if my workouts have gotten mondo crazy, and I've become a serious gym rat. Nope. I know, I know, you're wondering if I'm sidelining at WWF. Nope.

What I am doing, apparently with frightening regularity is this:

backing over the kids' things in the driveway.

Bike not put away? Rooooar! Here comes The Crusher! Her blue van cannot be stopped! It will crush and mangle your bike so irreparably, the recycling place will wonder if you were in a biking accident.

Tricycle left with one wheel on the driveway? Roooar! The Crusher will take that trike down down DOWN. Down to scrap metal town.

New scooter left leaning in the garage, too near The Crusher's van wheel? Oh, good. Daddy was driving that day. Crush averted.

Roooar!!!

It's almost embarrassing.

It's mostly gratifying, how a few inadvertent (really! inadvertent!) mishaps have accomplished what years of nagging could not: kids that are freakishly hasty at putting their bikes, scooters and trikes away.

You're welcome.

The Crusher is available and ready to help you with your toy-in-driveway issues.

Brothers

Lay down buddy, let's look at the clouds. Oh look! I see a bear!
Yeah Cole. Cole, Cole! Cole! I see a tree!

No buddy, that's the tree right there. Look up, way up, at the clouds.

OK Cole. Cole, Cole, Cole! I see a roof!

No buddy, look higher, up up UP.

OK Cole. Hey! Cole, Cole, Cole! I see a hippopotamus!
Yeah buddy, that's good, I see it too.

Gimme a hug buddy.

Party Rerun!

The Seventh Birthday Dance Party went off without a hitch.

See here, the happy parents with the happy party girls - happy, yes! because the party was held in our neighborhood clubhouse. Good one, yay me!

The dance is ON!

(Yes, yes that is our eldest son Cole in the dangly glow stick hoop earrings. Can we just say he was advertising the versatility of our party craft project? Necklaces, glasses... earrings! I'm in!)

See? Here's Jadyn, in all her glow stick finery! Complete with hoops! And finger laser lights, don't party without them...

Yes! Everyone is dancing... the cake is MINE...

Party hats made it home, to resurface the next morning. What a dance, what a crew.

It was proclaimed the "best birthday ever" and we said Good Night to our brand new resident

7 year olds.

The End.

Hambone Sisters

See these two hambones?

They turn seven on Saturday.

They have long legs and some honking big girl teeth.

They have strong emotions and clever minds.

They like to get into my cabinet and put on deodorant ("that arm pit stuff"), face powder and under-eye concealer. (I am a minimalist.)

They like to see their wrapped gifts, and think about the possibilities for days before opening the gifts. (This level of restraint did not come from me.)

One of them climbs trees like a lithe monkey. One of them is earthbound and avoids heights.

One of them hides dirty clothes under the bed. One of them is orderly and organized.

One of them procrastinates on HW. One of them jumps right into HW and leaves papers to be signed right on my desk.

One of them is not comfortable with technology and its workings. One of them is a natural with small electronics.

One of them has windblown, tangled hair within 5 minutes of brushing it. Actually, so does the other one.

As a pair, they are pretty darn complete.

I think I'll keep them.

The Year of the Happy

Hi kids. I think of you here, I truly do. Entertaining happenings, informative happenings, plain old crazy happenings - I think oh! They need to hear this!

Life is getting in the way of me. Phoenix is getting in the way of anything that does not heavily involve Phoenix. School is starting tomorrow, and then, oh then! Helloooo schedule, my preshus, my dahlink, thee I do love...

Holiday time is for for no routine, heck, no regular mealtime - because who needs regular times when you have resident locusts that require no break between feeding, and make me want to quote the Very Hungry Caterpillar at them all. day. long.???! (and for good measure !?!?!)

I do. I really do. They ask for food, and I reel off what they have eaten to that point in time, as if to explain to their empty bellies why there should be no hunger. It so (does not) worketh!

And then I think of the miles they have scootered around the neighborhood, and the hour(s) they have run full-tilt around the yard, cartwheeling and leaping over trees and small children, and next thing I know, MealTime The 5th is being served at 2pm. By a friendly waitress bearing drinks and a smile. Resident friendly waitress, I should say. All locusts should live with a waitress.

Along with my own 4 are 6 different neighborhood kids that also randomly float around the house. Two of them are in my Jadyn's 1st grade class, so I'm comfortable with bossing them around and hugging them and telling one in particular to blink those big blue eyes at me, daily.

He does so, and then asks for milk, and band-aids and could I please tie his shoes on the way out the door?

It has been a good holiday break. Weather good enough to run around in until dark, friends enough to go around, new toys enough to keep the smiles up, wounds enough to tell all and sundry.

Cole's first stitches, courtesy of a log in the woods, and a herd of running boys. Four in the eyebrow, and we have all said if you have to be scarred, the eyebrow rocks it. Laceration, one. Contusion, one. That one is Jadyn's, courtesy of a well-thrown heavy stick by aforementioned boy herd. She will go to school tomorrow with a sorry-looking shiner, and her hair pulled forward to hide it.

Though I did offer some concealer makeup, and explained what it was - we will see if she takes me up on it. All I know is, first thing this morning, before coffee, she peered into my face and said "I see what you mean about covering the purple circles under your eyes." Lucky me. See? I have my own wound, courtesy of Phoenix, who couldn't stay in his bed 3 times last night. Or any night prior.

These days. And then I get an email from my friend Louise, assuring me that this will be the best year ever. I look into space, and think - I surely do hope that during a long, fulfilling life such as hers, I will look each year in the face after 80 years and say it will be the best. I surely do hope!

Happy week and happy schedule and happy happy. Just happy in general, that's good - right? Let's do it.

The Year of the Happy.

{I think I will enjoy it as much as this particular year.... HA!}

Now I'm off to run a herd of boys to their own home for dinner, including one blue-eyed charmer.

Monkey see monkey do

Overheard: Turkey Talk

Phoenix: Jady, let's go to people's houses and say Happy Giving Day.

Jadyn: No Phoenix, it's not like Halloween.

Jadyn: Is that the turkey butt?

Me: Yep. Dad's stuffing it with stuffing, and you're getting it on your plate later.

Jadyn: Ahhhhh! Let's ride our bikes away from the turkey butt.

Phoenix: I want macaroni instead.

Isabella: Poor turkey. We're gonna eat you. What are you doing to it?!

Phoenix: It's Anksgiving Day? All our family comes over?

Me: No buddy, it's just us this year. We'll see them at Christmas.

Phoenix: What?! You're not my family.

The turkey has...

...entered the building!

I know, after all those turkey lunches at the school, who could want more? Oh, the tradition! Another tradition is the kids talking about turkey for 2 weeks, and never actually eating any. None of them like it a bit. So Rick and I are always doomed to eat it until we cannot stand the sight of it anymore. Rick lasts longer than I do, I am a wimpy leftover eater. Two days max.

So my turkey chicks are all home for five days, and at the moment are wearing every coat they own. It is windy and 65 degrees, and their blood is thin. No, really, they are playing "how many coats can I put on" and they all look like doughboys. I don't know, but whatever it is, they are playing it outside, and I am listening to their noise through the filter of doors and walls.

Which means I can hear Jack Johnson crooning and strumming, and it's a good morning.

You can imagine that there is yet another handmade holiday banner hanging, and you would be right.

It says "thankful," and we are.

Thankful for health and well-being,

Thankful for small, whole little people

Who drive us crazy and make us laugh.

Thankful for humor and family

Preferably together, because one without the other

dooms us all.

Maybe.

or maybe it's just my family?

{Nope.}

Times have changed so much, that I don't even long for what used to be home, and what used to be our routine. I guess 10 years of children will change any tradition. It used to be that come holiday time I would feel the pull towards Beaufort County, and my grandmother's cooking. My brothers' teasing and the belly laughs that go along with family jokes that have been ongoing for decades. I would grow all angst-y and incomplete, and long only to be on the road headed for home. Somewhere, in the process of gaining children and losing family, that shifted.

It's good to be home.

And now a moment for something that hasn't changed - sentimentality at the holidays!

Thanks for being part of my bloggy community, and for the comments and emails no matter how frequent or rare. {I am thankful...}

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours wherever your Home may be.

The week, in photo

Shots of the week to tide you over? Yes? OK. Here they are...

One turkey lunch...

Two turkey lunch...

Three turkey lunch...

Four.

Mama don't want turkey lunch, no more, no more, no more.

Also, Cole went on the overnight 5th grade field trip this week, at a GA 4-H Center, and apparently held some snakes, rowed a canoe, climbed ropes and took a cold shower. Wow! Sending a camera with him resulted in some fun shots.

Have a great weekend!

Tidbits to share

We are barely out the classroom door, into the quiet hallway, when the sharing begins.

My baby sister was crying last night. My Mommy woke up and gave her milk. My baby is so tiny.

Another voice chimes in:

My, my, my brother, my baby brother is standing up and holding on!

And then the first voice is back:

I have two baby sisters, the new sister, and a two year old sister. The new baby is crying a lot.

Two by two, I take them to the media center. In the next duo of students, I have a joke-teller, and a family member reviewer - she tells me her family names, and I must then list all of my kids.

These are my weekly updates, each time I visit one of my girls' classes, for reading tests. They come with me in pairs, to listen to a story and take a short comprehension quiz on the computer. But the sharing of Important Business is paramount. Small hands slide into mine, and they vie for air time, eyes sparkling at the presence of a pair of fresh ears.

Mostly, it is talk of siblings, pets and holidays. Moving to new houses, best friends. Now and then there are soulful ones who share bits of their hearts and leave me wondering and wistful.

My mommy makes things that are perfect. (Speaking of baking, confided with sparkling eyes and confidence in her mommy's kitchen splendor.)

And this one, I can never forget:

I don't have a mommy, I have a nanny who takes care of me.

I could only hug this one, and greet him with a special smile ever after. There are the quiet ones I have made a mission to get a smile out of, and the wild ones I have determined will walk and not run down the hall.

At six years old their little personalities are shining out, striving for some independence and success. My ears may be the only ones listening to only them for that day, and I try my hardest to be present. To listen fully and let them know I am glad to be there, reading with them, and hearing the tidbits of their lives. When it is one of my own girls' turn, they both act the same way: they snuggle in and are mostly silent. Listening to their friends chat, and hearing my responses seems to be enough.

We pass by students that I know from years past, and other reading groups. Fingers wiggle and wave, they sneak a hug and get back in line. I leave the building with a smile, my thoughts swirling lazily over all the little tidbits I now carry.

Sweet pieces of sweet little people.

Not a bad way to spend a morning.

The Countdown Ends!

Yes. I completely agree. Isabella's "show all my missing teeth" grin is the scariest sight around.

Happy Day, the countdown has been counted, the day is here, and they are ready to explode with anticipation. Lucky for the chaperones, it is sunny and warm, and a pleasant eve for the occasion.

Be safe! Have fun!

And, join me in hoping for many Milky Way Dark chocolates.

(Are you wondering if I will be indeed be Phoenix's wish for a Frincess?

Well, you will see tomorrow... bwahahaha...)

Ode to Footwear

Dear Offspring,

It has come to my attention that I am spending way too much of my time with your clothing items. One type, in particular. The lowly, lonely, sock. Fifty-six child-size socks per week, to be exact.

Whether it's gathering up socks from far-flung dusty places, unwadding, unrolling and insiding-outing, or (my favorite) taking crusty ones outside to shake out, I am up to my ears. These socks have no mates. These socks are a socky mess. I daydream of throwing them all away and getting one color and size for you all. I hardly think you would care. I find them under the couch, I find them on the stairs. I find them in my car, for heaven's sake, with a cloud of smelly foot rising up from them. Discarded, deserted, dispatched with haste - sock, you are anathema to me.

I know I have convinced you that scraped and banged-up legs just mean you are having fun. I do not feel the same about socks. Dirty smelly inside-out balled-up socks in every room do not mean you, or I, are having fun.

I can't care, says my inner Phoenix. I just can't care about socks anymore. When your feet get cold in the coming chill, just know that all of your socks have gone to that place in the ether where lost items go.

The dryer.

Love,

Mom

Halloween Fever is on

They are dressed...

and ready...

for one of their favorite...

nights of the year!

The costumes come out every afternoon, the Halloween shirts are worn days on end, the discussion of which streets we will go down has begun. Before long, Cole will publish his map (made weeks ago) of the best houses to trick or treat - I've seen this map, and he's right. Hi, neighbor with full-size candy bars! And in the true manner of a wired kid, Cole has G00gled "how to get the most candy at halloween." He came to me with his results, wearing a furrowed look and shaking his head. Oh G00gle. What idiotic Web-driven masterpiece has he searched up now? (I do have search lock on his computer)

He snorted and said some teenagers were posting mean ways to get candy. Whew. Could've been ugly.

We share stories from last year, of the haunted garage our friends hosted, of the other haunted garage that creeped some kids out so badly, they ran the other way. I'll admit, when Cole asked me to walk up to that garage with him, and I saw the head hanging in the midst of a dry ice fog, a bare table with one small dish of candy, and felt the mood set by the intense music.... ooooh. Shivers!

Music, dry ice and decapitation - these 3 elements rule the spooky world.

Most Bizarre-o? The Indian man. Definitely.

We approached that house, noting that the front door was open, but the opening was covered completely by a plastic sheet with Halloween decorations on it. A small hole was cut out at waist height. As the kids approached, a wrinkled brown hand poked out the hole in the plastic, clutching candy to drop into their bags. A voice from behind the plastic prattled on, and cackled, but we couldn't understand a word.

As you may imagine, this sparked some discussion over the process of people immigrating to the US, and trying to make sense of the massive consumer-fest that is Halloween. He had decorated, albeit unusually, and he had procured candy, wrapped and brand-name. We'll be looking for you again this year, Mr. Pokey-Hand! You sure got the creepy part down!

Here's hoping your little ghouls are also revving up...

The Counselor part two

Her troubles were mounting, and it was time for another visit with The Counselor.

Isabella: I talked to the counselor again. I told her I can't ride my bike. It's too hard without training wheels. And I told her that I want to go to the park or play Wii with my family this weekend. Those were my troubles.

*******************************************************

Fast forward a week. I asked her at bedtime if she been to the counselor again this week.

Isabella: No. Now we are only allowed to go if we have problems. We can't go to her and just talk about our day. So, now only the kids that have problems can go to her office.

Counselor chat nipped in the bud. Just like that. Oh Counselor! I knew thee so shortly, and had such hopes. Where will my child now find answers to her dear troubles?