Outside time

When our schoolwork for the day had been completed—and really both Zoë and Benjamin did great work today (Zoë has started her curriculum for grade two, because why not, and Benjamin actually did his work independently)—I sent the kids outside to play. 

The day was somewhat overcast, so they whined about having to go outside. 

"What if it rains?" they whined. 

"Then we'll see. But it isn't raining. It's only cloudy and you're going outside."

As if they don't enjoy playing in the rain. 

Sometimes they'll go outside and play for hours all on their own choosing. Sometimes I have to force them to go outside and later force them back inside. Sometimes I send them outside and they sneak back inside and down into the basement to play quietly hoping I won't notice. Sometimes—like today—I have to force them outside and they just hate it and it almost makes me wish I hadn't forced them outside.

But also they can't stay inside all day, so...out they went.

They fought and screamed for quite some time and then came inside to very grumpily get some water.

"I'm hot!"

"I have a headache!"

"My throat hurts!"

I gave them a timeout on the carpet while I thought about what to say to them, which was basically that I could hear them fighting and screaming and treating each other horribly from inside the house, which meant that (a) they weren't treating each other very well, which makes me feel sad because they should cherish each other, and (b) all the neighbours could hear their carrying ons as well and that was downright embarrassing! They were behaving abominably! 

And all their hotheadedness was probably what was causing their physical ailments in the first place.

"So you're going to go back outside and try again," I said. "Come up with a way to play together nicely this time."

They hung their heads and slunk out the back door, single file, and I settled down to finish the article I was reading ('cuz momma's got work to do, children). They played quietly for several minutes before coming back inside to ask if I would take a picture of their autumn wreath:

They'd gone around collecting leaves and acorns and twigs and even a snail shell or two and arranged them in a wreath shape because apparently that's a thing that we do somewhat regularly:

And they got along the whole time, so we'll call it a win!

First time on campus

It seems like having Mom be gone all day is a lot less traumatic in the morning after a good night's rest than it is at nighttime when you're sleepy and it's dark outside and you're only imagining the horror. 

Alexander woke up just before we left this morning (Andrew as my trusty (long-suffering) chauffeur) and he...was just fine being left in Rachel's care. And he did fine all day. He completely drained two iPad batteries playing Teach Monster (Read for Fun, or whatever their new program is called), but he did fine all day.

Today was also the day he decided that he could, in fact, simply take himself potty when he needs to go, so I'm hoping we've turned a corner there because he's been terribly dependent on having other people take him potty (the idea of taking himself was somehow repulsive). 

Andrew had a long day in the car (he drove me to campus and then drove home to be with the kids and then drove back to campus to pick me up), but he did get to catch up on a bunch of podcasts. He also went grocery shopping and folded the laundry! And now he's outside weed-eating. I'm sure he'll be working long hours this evening and tomorrow to make up for lost time.

I went inside Aderhold Hall for the first time (that's where the College of Education is) so that I could pick up some flyers. And then I spent the day on Tate Plaza.

This is a picture of me trying to find Tate Plaza:

Distance makes the heart grow fonder

I have to go to campus tomorrow for the very first time, and I have to admit I'm a little nervous. I realized today that not only is my "professional" wardrobe pretty slim pickings, I'm also 32 weeks pregnant. That makes the pickings even slimmer...because I am much less slim than usual. So I'm doing some laundry so that I can cobble together something presentable.

Andrew offered to let me borrow a not-a-diaper-bag, graduate-student-looking bag so that I can carry my necessities for the day (which will be pre-portioned meals, my glucometer, some homework supplies, and maybe some crochet because I do still need to finish Halloween costumes). Mostly I assume I'll be busy (because what I'll be doing is running a booth at a Banned Books Fair), but I'm also hoping I won't be too busy because I haven't gone anywhere public in ages and I'm a little afraid I'll be afraid of people. 

But that's fine because as nervous as I feel, I'm not as nervous as some.

This evening we were playing a game as a family while Alexander drew pictures. He made a lovely little solar system and even fashioned a little cat mask for himself (he loves dressing up and wearing masks). His cat mask doesn't look like it will be very functional, so Miriam suggested that tomorrow they can print out a template and he can colour it and they can make one together and somehow it came out that Miriam would be helping him with this because Mom would be gone all day (alllllll day).

(Note: Miriam will not be "in charge" at any point during the day, but she does have some fun activities planned to do with Alexander, anyway.)

The poor boy about started hyperventilating. Tears welled up in his eyes. His lower lip started to quiver.

"Mom will be...gone?" he whimpered before dissolving into a little puddle of his former self. 

He had so many worries. How would we print a template without Mom here? Mom is in charge of printing things! When we said "all day" did we mean "all day"? And who would be in charge? And how would he get lunch? And who would do reading lessons with him? And...

He had a good long sob into the front of my shirt, drenching us both with tears and snot. 

I'm sure tomorrow will go well for both of us, despite our misgivings.

Shout Hooray! (it was Andrew's birthday...)

I've not been great with documenting birthdays here, but that doesn't mean we haven't been celebrating! Andrew's birthday was only, like, 2.5 weeks ago, so it's not like I'm that far behind. But we need to reclaim our Birthday Tree so we can turn it into our Thankful Tree starting on Monday.

Of course, our tree has a rather busy autumn. It will be a Thankful Tree from Thanksgiving to Thanksgiving, but the kids also want to add a few Halloween decorations to it, and it will have to be a Birthday Tree for Alexander, Miriam, and Phoebe! 

So it's high time we gave its branches a break from Andrew's birthday balloons! 

Our family tends to show affection with a little bit...acerbically...at times. Love with a dose of laughter. Compliments with a hint of cruelty. Sincerity mixed with sarcasm. 

We'll call them inside jokes.

What once was lost now is found

At the beginning of August I bought a set of English-Spanish early readers because we're interested in learning Spanish over here and I figured reading together would help us get more comfortable speaking it together. Zoë was particularly excited about these readers, and on the day they arrived we nestled together in my big comfy chair (with Alexander and, I suppose, Phoebe) and read a handful together. 

Then somehow, despite my best efforts, the books—a boxed set of 25 readers!—ended up in Zoë's room. She swore up and down she would take excellent care of them because she's rather passionate about learning Spanish (despite how poor a Spanish teacher I make), and she did take good care of them...for about a day and a half...and then they disappeared.

Here's a fun fact about me: I don't like when things go missing. 

Missing puzzle pieces make me want to scream. I hate having to search for library books. I wish my kids would just keep their sets of toys together like normal children (or was that just me?). I do my best to simply not think about the ever-growing collection of matchless socks in our laundry room. Once I lost my notes from a lecture I attended online and was frantic for days (Andrew found them just before my paper was due and I was overjoyed).

You'd think that my desire to always know where things are would lead to me being a clean freak, but that's unfortunately not been the case for me. I mean, sure, that might make keeping track of things a lot easier but...keeping things put away with this many people pulling them out all the time is exhausting. So my house is a little disorderly, but usually I know where things are.

We have rules, people!

Þe Olde Poetry Club

Last year a friend of mine was displaced from her home due to the pandemic. She had been living in China, where both she and her husband were teaching English, but they had gone on vacation over the Chinese New Year (I believe they were enjoying Portugal) when China shut down. At first they hung out, having an "extended vacation" of sorts, but soon it became clear that this was not something that they'd be able to "wait out" on vacation. Since China was closed to them, they decided to fly to the States while they could. 

So on a whim, with nothing but the belongings they'd packed for a week-long vacation, they (and their two children) moved in with her parents in Florida. And then they just...stuck around...not knowing what they were going to do or supposed to do or what.

She felt hopeless and lonely and a little bit shattered. 

So she hopped online and asked if any of her friends wanted to be in a poetry club. Specifically she just wanted to share Mary Oliver poems, bask in their beauty, and discuss. 

I had never heard of Mary Oliver (oops?) but I like my friend and was feeling like I could use a community as well, so I said that I was in...depending on the schedule because...life was feeling topsy-turvy for us, too! We were still settling in here in Georgia, figuring out homeschooling, and...I was starting a master's degree.

My friend assured me that it would be 100% asynchronous. We'd just post things on a forum and respond to each other and get to know each other and enjoy some beautiful words. Her friends were just as scattered around the world as mine were, anyway, so planning any sort of virtual meet-up would likely be impossible. 

Sounded good to me.

Uh...it's the weekend...

And...really quickly before I have to go do everything else that I have to do...

Part of my job is monitoring the email account and responding to inquiries and so forth. Which...is fine. Like, I'm decent at email. Never mind that my personal email has 9,493 unread emails. It's fine. I'm good at reading and responding to the important emails. 

This weekend I watched ten hours of general conference, read a book for one of my classes (263 pages), finished a big project for another one of my classes, read a couple of articles for yet another class, started teaching Rachel and Andrew how to crochet, crocheted a hat for Zoë's Halloween costume, and put together a 27-page family newsletter (which involved dozens of emails from relatives spread across the globe—from Sweden to Louisiana to North Dakota, Alberta, and Utah...). In addition to other weekend stuff.

I did not, however, check my work email. 

Because it was the weekend.

And I'm not obligated to respond to work emails over the weekend, right?

So I missed an inquiry that came in on Saturday afternoon. 

But I checked my work email at noon today and—look!—I had a question to answer. So I hit "reply" and was in the middle of answering their question when my computer dinged. I had another email!

I looked to see what it was about and, lo, it was a follow-up from the same person who sent me an email on Saturday afternoon. They were like, "Ummmm...so are you ever going to answer my question?!"

And I was like, "Ummmm...it's noon on Monday. Your question has literally been burning for a grand total of three business hours, friend."

But, of course, I didn't say that in my answer. Those were inside words.

I understand the desire for an instant answer, I do! But I thought this was funny because I'd seen memes about this but had never experienced it in real life until today!

No leftovers!?!

Guys, Facebook is down. 

Regrettably (or not?), Facebook has become where I keep all my brief notes of funny things my kids say because sometimes composing an entire blog post is...daunting...with the few minutes I manage to nab here and there. It's simply a medium that, for me, seems to call for longer-format writing.

All this is to say that it's lunchtime at our house and my children cannot decide what to eat.

"There's no leftovers," they complained. 

And so they didn't know what to have for lunch. 

Don't worry; they've managed. Alexander is having a muffin (leftovers from our conference weekend treats) with vegetables (also leftover from conference) and fruit (conference). Benjamin has made himself a fruit salad (with yogurt and leftover fruit). Zoë had cheese and crackers (again, conference leftovers!). Rachel had a croissant sandwich (did you guess conference leftovers?).

"I just don't know what to eat!" Miriam said, staring into the relatively empty fridge.

In her defense, the fridge is relatively empty. The other kids had eaten most of the leftovers and we have literally no leftover meals in there otherwise (which is unusual for us, but we didn't cook at all on Saturday or Sunday). 

She settled on making herself some scrambled eggs to have with a leftover muffin and strawberries.

But the funny thing is that when our fridge is bursting with leftovers...I have to beg the kids to eat them. When the fridge is full of leftovers my kids say things like, "I'm going to make Ramen!" or "I'll have a sandwich!" or "Oooh! Boxed macaroni and cheese!"

They never willingly dig into leftovers unless I announce that everyone will be having leftovers for lunch.

But today we don't have any leftovers and they were all at a loss...as if we don't have Ramen or sandwich goods or boxed macaroni and cheese today (we do). 

Garbage Caramel and Family History

It's General Conference weekend and the kids are all very excited (in large part, I think, because it means they get special snacks). Rachel stayed up late last night to make caramel sauce to dip apple slices in, but she bragged about how great she was at making caramel sauce first. 

Miriam tried making it a while back (last conference? the conference before?) but it ended up just a syrup. It was light brown, wouldn't thicken at all, and was a disappointing failure, which we told her was no big deal because caramel—while it sounds simple—is very easy to mess up. But then Rachel was like, "I'll do it!" and she did it.

So last night she was teasing Miriam about this, saying that Miriam shouldn't be the one to make the caramel because she'd just mess it up. Rachel would do it. Rachel is good at making caramel. Rachel doesn't understand how people have a hard time making caramel....

Rachel showed up in my bedroom at 10:00 last night, while I was working on the Hancock Hummer, bawling about caramel.

Side note: I have a theory that, if nothing else, grad school makes you more efficient? Because...I feel like I've put this newsletter together relatively quickly...anyway...

Rachel came into my room sobbing. Her face was red and blotching and she had tears streaming down her face. And she'd followed the directions—twice—but both times her sugar seized, recrystallized and the entire pot turned into one solid lump of sugar and she can't figure out why and now the whole kitchen is a mess and she has two pots soaking and no caramel! And she'll never understand how to make caramel or why she was successful in the past and wasn't successful in that moment and...

Fortunately family history was a welcome distraction for her. She wondered about past Hancock Hummers, like what did we say when she was born? And what did my parents say when I was born? 

Wake me up when September ends

It seems like I'm doing well if I can manage to post twice during the week! 

Today I had another prenatal appointment. The nurse that I like was working and asked if I wanted my Tdap booster today or at my next visit (in two weeks...because we're into the single digits now...of weeks left) and since the nurse that I don't like is usually the one working when I come in I said, "Today, please!" to getting the shot because the other nurse had to draw my blood once and she, like, exploded my vein or something (it bled for almost an hour and took forever to heal, with plenty of bruising, pain, and a friendly scar that has yet to leave). 

The shot was fine, but my arm is a little sore. 

Not very sore. Just sore enough that when I move it I think to myself, "Huh...I wonder why my arm is...oh, yeah."

I'm trying not to be forgetful these days but there's just so much to remember.

I've been putting together The Hancock Hummer this evening and Andrew, knowing I was in project mode, came upstairs at 10:00 and sweetly reminded me that it was time for my evening snack. 

I've gotten so used to ignoring my hunger cues and cravings—eating strictly by the clock and calorie/carb count—that if I'm not keeping track of the time then I just forget to eat at all. It's fine (in case you haven't gathered: I kind of dislike gestational diabetes). So technically Andrew came up at 10:10 to remind me that it was time for my snack when he hadn't heard me come downstairs on my own. 

It's a team effort.