Empty bottles

I'm in the middle of a writing project, and it's kidnapping ever spare second that I have. "What's for dinner?" the kids ask, and I forage in the fridge for the chicken sausages. (Healthy, right? At least they aren't REAL hotdogs.) But the quiet afternoons are blissful, and I look forward to getting the twins in bed and situating myself at my desk. I get lost in a blizzard of books and papers, and the clock stares me down for the hour and a half I have to somehow think of something meaningful to say. My prayers as I sit down are admittedly very hurried, sounding something like this: "God, don't have a lot of time. You gotta work quick. Praying for your words and your thoughts." And some days, like yesterday, the words are steady, the thoughts cohere, and I close the laptop feeling like something happened. Other days (like today) I feel tired and sluggish. The words limp along, my energy wanes, and I quit before the finish line.

Wanted to share another great read for kids: Winn-Dixie, by Kate DiCamillo. (I've already recommended The Tale of Desperaux and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by her.) She has a wonderful character in this book, Gloria Dump. Gloria lives in the house with the overgrown yard - the neighborhood kids think she's a witch. But Winn-Dixie, the dog for whom the book is titled, one day gets away from the narrator, Opal, bounds into Gloria's backyard and when Opal finally catches up to him, he's eating a spoonful of peanut butter at the hand of Miss Gloria. She and Opal quickly become friends. Opal herself is a lonely little girl; she and her dad, the Preacher have just recently moved to Florida. Her mom, an alcoholic, left the family years ago. 

Several chapters later, we come to find out that Miss Gloria Dump was herself an alcoholic. And here's the haunting image I just can't get out of my mind. In her backyard, she's strung up empty wine, beer and liquor bottles in a tree. One day she asks Opal, "What do you think about that tree?"

'I said, "I don't know. Why are all those bottles on it?"

"To keep the ghosts away," Gloria said.

"What ghosts?"

"The ghosts of all the things I done wrong."

A great book for talking to your kids about guilt, forgiveness, loneliness, loss, and redemption.

Lipstick?

I am a delinquent blogger. My last post was over two weeks ago. I haven't managed to form any coherent thoughts of late, I guess. And our days have taken a very predictable shape now that school has started. What on earth is really interesting to relate?

Bah humbug to coherence and being funny. Here's the gist of what's going on.

Audrey's now in 2nd grade. "We do a lot of reading and writing, Mom." And other facts of interest about 2nd graders: 2nd graders sit at desks, 2nd grader do timed math tests, and 2nd graders have spelling words like, "meadow." I don't know about Audrey, but I'm liking 2nd grade.

Nathan's in kindergarten. As Camille and I were working the other day on a reading lesson, Nathan notes, "You could be teaching kindergarten because we do this same stuff." OK, so kindergarten's not Harvard, but it's fun. Nathan told me about Evan the other day, a crippled boy in his class. "His legs don't work the way ours do." From there ensues a discussion, tied to our earlier reading of the story of the Good Samaritan, about being a helper. And I thank God for inclusion.

Camille's in preschool, our first to go. Last week, she told me about Michelangelo. They did the most creative project, painting on their backs underneath tables to simulate what it must have been like for Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. We got a book for the library to learn more about Michelangelo, and she soaked it all up. As for the letter for the week? I show her the "w," and she stares blankly at the paper. "Y?" she answers quizzically. More work to do here.

Andrew and Colin: Colin has been officially crawling for a month. Andrew is content to sit and play with his toys. He's not as happy when Colin bulldozes him and steals whatever is his hand. They're at such a fun stage.

And it's getting easier. Never easy, but easier. Here's a glimpse at a typical morning. 7 a.m., everyone's up. I start feeding the babies their cereal, and Nathan unloads the dishwasher from the night before. Audrey takes cereal orders, and Camille demands Honey Nut Cheerios. "We don't have Honey Nut Cheerios," Audrey explains. Camille insists on Honey Nut Cheerios a few hundred more times, and Audrey says "Fine, you're not having anything." Meanwhile, Nathan's built the leaning tower of Pisa with the cups he's unloaded from the dishwasher. I goad him to finish the job. I take a break from the babes to pour the apple juice. Everyone wants straws, and I give in, a move I later regret when the apple juice bubbles over the rims of their cups and makes a sticky mess on the kitchen table.

I'm back to feeding the babes, everyone's got their cereal, everyone that is but Camille. "Where's Camille's cereal?" I ask Audrey, who explains she's not eating this morning because she wanted Honey Nut Cheerios and we don't have any. Nope, not an option, everyone's got to eat. Camille agrees to Shredded Spoonfuls. 

7:45 by this time, and I think, Great, we've got some time. Don't have to leave until 8:15. Mistake. I send Audrey to practice piano, and I work on getting the babes changed and dressed. From upstairs, I simultaneously wipe a dirty bottom and call down to Audrey, "Those are quarter notes, aren't they?" Audrey needs help with the metronome - I run down to adjust it, run back up before Colin's found the stairs. He's managed to pull the trash can on its side, and that's not the place you want to be putting your hand in the babies' room.

I forgot Andrew on my way up, so I'm back down to get him. I hear a muffled, "Mommy, can you wipe me?" Camille's calling for me. If I were Ryan, I'd yell back, "Wipe yourself!" but I dutifully run to the basement with Andrew in my arms, juggle him to one hip, wipe her with my free hand. I wash the offending hand (the other one I need) and run back upstairs. "Staccato with the left hand, Audrey!" I yell down as she continues to practice.

"Five minutes, and we gotta go!" 

We make it out the door on time, and if there's a spare 30 seconds, I brush my teeth. As for lipstick, well, who's got time for that?

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