Today's forecast (much like yesterday's and tomorrow's) was rain, rain, rain. But, mid-morning when the rain suddenly let up we decided we had better head outside for a quick walk around the block to cure us from our cabin fever. So we did.
Wednesday, March 04, 2020
Monday, March 02, 2020
Playing at the park with Naanii
After coming home for a quick lunch, we got ready to hit up some playgrounds with Naanii. Today will likely be the only sunshine-y day we have with her. Our forecast for the coming week is rain, rain, and more rain (what a surprise (we've gotten about 19 inches of rain so far this year already (making us, so far, much wetter than Seattle (honestly, with an average of about 50 inches of rain per year, we usually out-rain Seattle but they've also had a particularly wet start their their year))). Anyway, we knew we had to soak up this sunshine while we had the opportunity, so we spent the afternoon playing outside.
 |
| This is just a cute picture we took before leaving for church this morning. Zoë did her own hair and Alexander had to copy her. When she said, "Isn't my hair beautiful?" Alexander said, "Isn't my hair b...cute?" He doesn't like to copy anyone verbatim, though he does like to borrow sentence structures. He's a walking, talking thesaurus. |
The spinning thing
We discovered this playground about a month ago and were immediately drawn to "the spinning thing," a thing we've seen at multiple playgrounds around the city, but a thing that hasn't worked anywhere but here. We weren't quite sure what to do with it at first but we were pretty sure it was not this...
That's Zoë using it completely wrong back on February 5. We're pretty much pros at it now. At least, Miriam is. Here she is spinning right on past her goal of 20 rotations (and then past 25 rotations because Andrew couldn't get it stopped in time so she ended up with 26 rotations (kind of a weird number)):
That's Zoë using it completely wrong back on February 5. We're pretty much pros at it now. At least, Miriam is. Here she is spinning right on past her goal of 20 rotations (and then past 25 rotations because Andrew couldn't get it stopped in time so she ended up with 26 rotations (kind of a weird number)):
Stake Conference
Unlike how things went down at our multi-stake meeting this morning, I'll go ahead and spill the good news first thing: we're in a new stake but we get to stay in our meetinghouse (at least for now).
Our bishop cautioned us to leave early to get to the building because he assumed it would be super crowded, but as it turns out we were in an overflow building and the actual conference was held in a different meeting and broadcast to ours, so we would have been fine leaving the house at least twenty minutes later than we did. But, oh well. We were there in plenty of time to pick out seats and sit in them for a half hour before the meeting began.
When it finally started, the sound wasn't piped over the whole speaker system in the building and so we had to rely on the muffled broadcast sounds coming from who knows where (the computer?). At dinner I said something to the effect of, "I've discovered I have some sort of sensory processing issue and I cannot filter out extra noise very well. So between the poor sound quality and all the chaos of a congregation filled with children I have no idea what was going on..."
And (spoiler: my mom is here) my mom said, "What do you mean 'discovered?' I've known that for years!"
"You have?!" I asked.
"Yes."
Huh. Well, my mom may have known this about me, but it's something I'm just discovering for myself over the course of being a mom (and being married to Andrew). Too much extra noise and my brain just switches off trying to compute anything that's going on. So I can't really tell you much about what happened in stake conference. I did listen long enough to learn what stake we're in—and that we did switch stakes. Our ward borders five stakes so this whole thing really could have gone in any number (assuming n=5) of directions.
Our bishop cautioned us to leave early to get to the building because he assumed it would be super crowded, but as it turns out we were in an overflow building and the actual conference was held in a different meeting and broadcast to ours, so we would have been fine leaving the house at least twenty minutes later than we did. But, oh well. We were there in plenty of time to pick out seats and sit in them for a half hour before the meeting began.
When it finally started, the sound wasn't piped over the whole speaker system in the building and so we had to rely on the muffled broadcast sounds coming from who knows where (the computer?). At dinner I said something to the effect of, "I've discovered I have some sort of sensory processing issue and I cannot filter out extra noise very well. So between the poor sound quality and all the chaos of a congregation filled with children I have no idea what was going on..."
And (spoiler: my mom is here) my mom said, "What do you mean 'discovered?' I've known that for years!"
"You have?!" I asked.
"Yes."
Huh. Well, my mom may have known this about me, but it's something I'm just discovering for myself over the course of being a mom (and being married to Andrew). Too much extra noise and my brain just switches off trying to compute anything that's going on. So I can't really tell you much about what happened in stake conference. I did listen long enough to learn what stake we're in—and that we did switch stakes. Our ward borders five stakes so this whole thing really could have gone in any number (assuming n=5) of directions.
Sunday, March 01, 2020
Even more tripping
It must be leap year because we're just tripping left and right this month!
We were out walking one fine morning this week—likely the only fine morning on the radar (it's still been so wet and rainy)—and Benjamin and Zoë were racing around picking all the wildflowers they could see. They gathered a lot of purple—with henbit, johnny-jump-ups (wild pansies), and wild violets—some white chickweed blossoms, and a few bright yellow dandelions (a cold-weather weed for us).
Here's Zoë showing off her little bouquet mid-walk:
We were out walking one fine morning this week—likely the only fine morning on the radar (it's still been so wet and rainy)—and Benjamin and Zoë were racing around picking all the wildflowers they could see. They gathered a lot of purple—with henbit, johnny-jump-ups (wild pansies), and wild violets—some white chickweed blossoms, and a few bright yellow dandelions (a cold-weather weed for us).
Here's Zoë showing off her little bouquet mid-walk:
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Stories without context
I feel like our children have been particularly funny lately, but that I've been slow to blog about things because I've been busy stewing over my graduate school application. So I'm going to drop a few stories here, without a lot of context, for posterity's sake. If you follow me on Facebook, sorry for the repeats, this is practically verbatim from my posts there.
First, from this evening's scripture study (2 Nephi 16 (see also Isaiah)):
Rachel: What’s a seraphim?
Andrew: Seraphim is actually plural. “Im” in Hebrew is like “een” in Arabic. It’s a plural marker.
Rachel: Then what’s a seraph?
Andrew: It’s an angelic being.
Miriam: Then what’s a sans-serif?
Andrew: Completely different thing.
First, from this evening's scripture study (2 Nephi 16 (see also Isaiah)):
Rachel: What’s a seraphim?
Andrew: Seraphim is actually plural. “Im” in Hebrew is like “een” in Arabic. It’s a plural marker.
Rachel: Then what’s a seraph?
Andrew: It’s an angelic being.
Miriam: Then what’s a sans-serif?
Andrew: Completely different thing.
First steps, take 3
We had the missionaries over for dinner last night and before they left I asked if they would help Andrew give Alexander a blessing of healing. He hadn't taken a single step the whole day, but didn't seem to be in a grave amount of pain. And as wonderful advanced as our medical system is, I just didn't want to go through all the hassle of meeting with our primary care doctor to get a prescription to get an x-ray and then go back to discuss things with the doctor and so on and so on.
Especially because I wasn't 100% sure it was broken. In fact, I was rather confident in the other direction. If I had thought it was broken we would have rushed in immediately (as we did with his arm...and his leg the last time...and what is with this fragile child?!).
Obviously it was bothering him, but not severely. (I mean, severely enough that he refused to put weight on it but not so severely that he was in constant tears.) Mostly I just wanted some peace of mind. And so we gave him a blessing.
Andrew blessed him that his leg would heal quickly and without lasting consequence, that he would start walking again soon, that we'd know when to take him in if he needed medical attention, and that he'd continue to be the joy to our family that he is.
I was thrilled this morning when I walked on him dancing in the kitchen with the kids! He was limping around in pathetic little circles, but he was happy and bi-pedal, if only for a moment! Then this afternoon at the playground I carried him around for a bit and then put him in the swing because he hadn't been doing much walking and reminded me frequently throughout the day that his leg still hurt, but he surprised me by asking to get down so that he could play!
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Bam," he said, which means 'yes' for whatever reason.
"Okay," I said, hoisting him out of the swing. "I don't know what you think you're going to do. Scooch around on your bum, I guess. There's not much to do if you can't walk..."
But he surprised me again and hobbled around doing quite a bit of everything:
And I was finally able to exhale.
Now when we ask him how his leg is he says, "Still hurts but I'm feeling better."
I'm hopeful he'll have an even better day tomorrow.
Some bits of nature
Today it was not rainy so we went to the park for a while in the afternoon to get out some wiggles that we've been bottling up for far too long and while we were walking we noticed the odd silhouette of these tree branches:
We stared up at them for several minutes, wondering if the tree was diseased somehow, making its bark peel. Or perhaps it had some sort of fungal infection. Or...
We found a small branch on the ground and examined it for a closer look, but still couldn't quite put our finger on what was going on. It seemed like the growth was part of the branch but also different from the branch (Miriam described it as "foamy," but I've since seen it described online as "corky"). I pulled out my phone and used an app to help identify it. The app quickly recognized it as "winged elm," a plant indigenous to the south. Its Creek name is Wahoo (which the kids loved learning).
I've since been wondering if there's a bit of poetry (or a story) in this tree, being stuck on the ground but wishing so hard to fly.
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Another book and more tears
I read the last three chapters of Elijah of Buxton to the kids this morning. Usually we read one chapter (sometimes two) but this morning we couldn't help ourselves and we gobbled the whole thing up.
And I cried like a baby, which confused Benjamin again. He's at the age where he was frustrated with Elijah's inaction because he's not old enough to know that it's much harder to walk the walk than it is to talk the talk. In the end Elijah does act, but in a much smaller (but still very significant) way than he originally dreamed up.
If I'm not mistaken, Miriam was tearing up a little, herself, so at least I wasn't alone in my crying this time.
There was a speech in the middle of the book that the "growned folks" make to welcome newly freed slaves into the settlement, which made me cry, and even though I knew I'd be hearing it at the end of the book and had already read it aloud it made me cry again. But then we were laughing just a couple of lines later when Frederick Douglass gets his "revenge" on Elijah.
And that's pretty much how the book went. We were laughing and crying the whole way along.
And I cried like a baby, which confused Benjamin again. He's at the age where he was frustrated with Elijah's inaction because he's not old enough to know that it's much harder to walk the walk than it is to talk the talk. In the end Elijah does act, but in a much smaller (but still very significant) way than he originally dreamed up.
If I'm not mistaken, Miriam was tearing up a little, herself, so at least I wasn't alone in my crying this time.
There was a speech in the middle of the book that the "growned folks" make to welcome newly freed slaves into the settlement, which made me cry, and even though I knew I'd be hearing it at the end of the book and had already read it aloud it made me cry again. But then we were laughing just a couple of lines later when Frederick Douglass gets his "revenge" on Elijah.
And that's pretty much how the book went. We were laughing and crying the whole way along.
Anne of Green Gables and five-year plans
I read the last three chapters of Anne of Green Gables to the kids tonight. Usually we read one chapter (sometimes two) but tonight we couldn't help ourselves and we gobbled up the whole thing.
Having to read aloud about Matthew's death was difficult. I've never had to do it before. I bought these books when we lived in Durham but never got around to reading them aloud to Rachel and Miriam (though they've since read the Anne books (or some of them) to themselves). Reading that part aloud was tough, though now that I'm reviewing it in my mind I can't pinpoint the exact parts that made me cry. It was just all so beautifully put.
When I read the line, "It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it," I knew I was doomed.
But "the tears don't hurt me like that ache did," though they did concern the children quite a bit. Zoë kept asking me if I was sad because Matthew died or if I was sad for some other reason (and could I please stop crying?). Benjamin tiptoed out of his room with his beloved "Lamb-y" and tucked him in beside me to help me feel better before running away and jumping back into his bed. It was very sweet.
Having to read aloud about Matthew's death was difficult. I've never had to do it before. I bought these books when we lived in Durham but never got around to reading them aloud to Rachel and Miriam (though they've since read the Anne books (or some of them) to themselves). Reading that part aloud was tough, though now that I'm reviewing it in my mind I can't pinpoint the exact parts that made me cry. It was just all so beautifully put.
When I read the line, "It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it," I knew I was doomed.
But "the tears don't hurt me like that ache did," though they did concern the children quite a bit. Zoë kept asking me if I was sad because Matthew died or if I was sad for some other reason (and could I please stop crying?). Benjamin tiptoed out of his room with his beloved "Lamb-y" and tucked him in beside me to help me feel better before running away and jumping back into his bed. It was very sweet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)