You know what I *do* like?

During choir practice, Rachel was getting friendly with Sister LeBaron. First she just sat beside her and then she moved onto her lap and the next thing I know, Sister LeBaron is digging through her purse looking for something to give to Rachel. She found a cough drop and gave it to her.

Rachel ran over to me to see if that was alright.

I told her it was because we're all coughing up a storm here still anyway.

So she ran back over to Sister LeBaron, popped the cough drop in her mouth and settled in for a good snuggle. After a while Sister LeBaron asked Rachel if she liked the cough drop.

"Not really," Rachel said honestly.

"But it's cherry! That's yummy!"

"Yeah, but my daddy has some other ones that are better."

"Oh."

"You know what I do like, though?"

"Hmmm?"

Rachel turned so that her back squarely faced Sister LeBaron.

"I really like it when people, like, tickle my back or scratch my back."

Oh, children can be so embarrassing!

Tired Ballerina

One of my ballerinas usually has plenty of energy:

Russia mini-union

Last week, I had Emily and Esther over. We went to Russia together in 2004 to teach English; in June of this year we will have been home for seven years! It's funny to think that seven years ago we had all just met and were still getting to know each other. We were all young women, lost in a foreign country. We had our share of adventure, to be sure, and several misadventures as well. 

Seven years later and we've all gotten married, though some of those marriages have, sadly, ended. Between us all we have eight children—we had half of them over at our house on Friday!

Spring-morning, winter-afternoon

Late yesterday morning it was 56 degrees! We went to play outside and although it didn't last for even an hour (we're all still sick here) I think it did us a world of good. 

Rachel really wanted to blow bubbles, so we did. 

I am not a pessimist

As I stood looking out the window,
Spring melted away the winter blues
With fresh green leaves emerging
From buds conceived in a womb of frost.
The sound of melting snow trickled
Down the roof and through the gutter, while birds,
Hopping, singing, building, flying
Through the sun-kissed, pink-and-purple sky,
Flirted with me. I noted the grass bravely
Shook off its white robes of mourning,
While the wind, gently stirring the
Busily-emerging verdure, breathed life
Into each of its outstretched fingers.

The trees are getting their leaves!
I remarked to my husband.

They will all die later this week, he said.
It is supposed to snow on Thursday.

And he calls me
A pessimist.

BRAT diet

On Saturday morning after Rachel threw up she wanted to eat breakfast. First of all, I don't know why she threw up—no one else has. I think it might be because she woke up with a high fever and didn't want to eat breakfast so I gave her some tylenol. It must have hit her empty stomach wrong. Upon emptying her stomach she declared she was feeling much better and wished to have breakfast. I told her that she could go find her daddy and tell him that she was allowed to have toast for breakfast, but nothing else, because she had just thrown up.

She obediently went and did so. 

Yesterday morning Rachel woke me up and felt my forehead.

"You're so hot, Mommy!" she told me—I was running a temperature of 102°F. "You can only have toast for breakfast."

She then felt Andrew's forehead and declared, "Daddy feels just fine. He can have whatever he wants for breakfast!"

Her forehead was next.

"Oh! I feel just fine, too. That means I can have whatever I want for breakfast today, too. And I don't want toast. I want cereal!"

Somehow she seems to have missed the point that she was put on a toast diet due to throwing up, not due to her fever. And it's not like she was stuck on toast all day, either...she only had to keep it down to prove she didn't have stomach flu. Silly girl.

Warning: Ask a doctor before visiting the Heisses

I don't really know how Andrew survived this week—he only slept in one day, causing him to miss one class.  It's a miracle, really, considering how awful I feel. Andrew's been absolutely wonderful and has let me sleep pretty much all day yesterday and today. Somehow he managed to get the flu without getting a fever. The girls and I, on the other hand, have just been burning up.

I think it might have something to do with how much Dayquil/Theraflu he's been ingesting.

When I started feeling sick I quickly made a call to the doctor to see what he suggest I take. I knew the course of this illness would be awful because Andrew has been acting so pathetic all week. Unfortunately, the doctor never got back to me so I've been suffering through the flu with ibuprofen, cough drops, and orange juice. I'm still nursing, see, so I never know what I can take because everything seems to have a warning label these days: if pregnant or breastfeeding, ask a doctor.

The last thing I want when my little baby is sick is to have my milk run out and so I just continue taking nothing. I wish, instead, that they would list on the bottle what would actually happen if a nursing mother were to take the medicine. Taking aspirin is discouraged because the aspirin can pass through the breast milk to the infant and potentially cause Reye's syndrome or internal bleeding. However, my ibuprofen bottle also says to "ask a health professional before use," because I'm breastfeeding.

He's gone!

Today was a momentous day in history—Mubarak abdicated his presidency at 6:00 PM, EET.

That was the first thing Andrew told me this morning and I quickly went to Al Jazeera to watch the jubilant celebration in Midan Tahrir. Rachel joined me.

"That's Egypt," she said, "Are the people still angry?"

"No. They're very happy. They're celebrating."

"It looks the same as when they're angry," she pointed out,  "They're lighting fires and yelling."

Build something useful

Our first week of cub scouts—our trial week, if you will,—was discussing the food pyramid and healthy eating, exercise habits, and the like. Not only was it easy, but we had the old den leaders holding our hands and showing us the ropes. At the end of the meeting they handed us the manuals and wished us luck.

After a few days I cracked the books open to see what we were supposed to be covering the following week: tools for fixing and building!?

They didn't tell me I'd have to build stuff when I took this job!

Couldn't I just teach the boys to crochet? No? Darn.

What makes things even more difficult is that the requirement isn't "hammer a bunch of boards together in a haphazard fashion and call it art;" it's "make...something useful."

Their first suggestion is a birdhouse. A birdhouse?! You have got to be kidding me. There is no way I would let a living creature set foot in anything I construct. There is also no way I am supervising six boys while they try to properly assemble a birdhouse. Especially not after today.

Today was building day.

Last week we decided to take it easy and simply discuss tools, exhibit tools, and practice using a hammer and screw driver. Rachel got out her own toolbox and pretended to work along with us. All the boys were really cute and took turns playing with her and quizzing her on the names of her tools.

Questioner Beware

Miriam is not discreet; she doesn't beat around the bush. If you ask a question, expect a direct answer. 

She was such an oral explorer as a little baby—and she is still an oral explorer today. Therefore, a question she has heard a lot of in her short life is: What's in your mouth?

She answers honestly, every time:

And since everyone finds her answer so overwhelmingly humourous, Rachel likes to copy her to try to squeeze a few more laughs out of the dinner-table audience.



By the way, Rachel is on her fourth outfit of the day. I was really excited for the day when I could say "Go and get dressed!" and have my children disappear into their bedrooms and then magically reappear, fully clothed, moments later. Her shirt is backwards and her outfits rarely match...and I knew that would happen. I didn't realize, however, that having one child dressing herself would quadruple my laundry load.

At least they're cute.