The Undefeated

Just got back from an exclusive (as in, playing in only ten cities across the U.S.) showing of The Undefeated, a documentary of the career of Sarah Palin. Y'all had to know that I liked her, but this - WOW! She is the real deal. For sure.

Technical gripe: I thought some of the emotionally-charged nature scenes (ravening wolves, jaws) were a bit gratuitous and hyperbolic. However, the political commentary was spot-on and the raw footage of real events and speeches was spectacularly inspiring. Sarah Palin's record of accomplishments is truly astounding. If she runs for president, I suspect it would take an act of God (or maybe George Soros) to stop her.

Mad as a hornet

My little garden has been doing so well this year, since I actually plugged in the sprinkler and left the hose draped across the lawn all day, thus ensuring that things got watered on a regular basis. (Somehow unwinding and putting away the hose is an insurmountable obstacle, mentally.) I was so delighted to be given several more plants last week, including dill, parsley, rosemary, and several basil, not to mention a few tomatoes. I planted them with sweat and toil, and looked forward to the prospect of a rich harvest. And every day thereafter, the rabbits came and systematically munched their way through it.

Our garden, let it be noted, was already enclosed with a chain link fence. Michael wrapped chicken wire along the lower portion a few years ago, and secured it tightly to the fence with tie straps last year, because rabbits still wriggled through. Now we think they must have begun to burrow under the chain link fencing, enticed by the fragrance of the herbs. It's very disappointing, to say the least.

I went out there the other day with a shovel to pound clay along the fence line and build up an earthen dike sufficient to deter the little beasts. Red Georgia clay we have in profusion, and I was excavating a deep hole nearby and pounding it around the fence with great ferocity when I noticed a flurry of yellow jackets coalescing with astonishing rapidity. Four of them got to me as I beat a hasty retreat. The internet informed me that I had up to 20 hours to die of anaphylactic shock, so when that didn't happen, I concluded happily that I am not allergic to hornets.

Meanwhile the rabbits continue to devour my hard-earned produce, and I seethe with Wile E. Coyote-like rage. Each morning when I survey the desolation, I can practically feel my eyeballs swirl with red indignation as I contemplate lining the garden with mousetraps, poison, venus fly-traps, and TNT. First we have to vanquish the hornets. Why can't the hornets sting the rabbits?

Longest day of the year

And shortest time to post, apparently.

Look who's two!

Futility

I've been thinking about priorities lately. Reading books like Organized Simplicity inspires me to start up another round of un-stuff-ing, freeing my mind from the mental clutter as well as the physical tripping points. Increasing demands upon my time require* that something must go, and it's always a balancing act to keep my perspective grounded.

I want to spend more time with my children. Time invested in their lives is really the best spent, whereas all the busy-work of running the household has a peculiarly fatalistic quality to it: catch-up vacuuming and laundry is only marginally more time-consuming than the everyday variety. So I tell myself, and yet I really can't let the dishes and laundry slide too much. And ultimately, it just doesn't matter.

Ha! No, I'm not just being calm and accepting of less than perfection. It literally doesn't matter whether I think I'm caught up or not, because before the dishwasher or washing machine finishes the cycle, there will be more dirty dishes and soiled laundry. Just like Almanzo's fleece from Farmer Boy, I can never really keep up. And yet I keep trying.

The little incident that sparked all this introspection? While lately feeding the baby, I felt a suspicious warmth seep across my lap. I had just settled another load in the washer and graduated the last batch of soaking stains from the bin, and there was the momentary adrenaline rush to consider whether I should make a mad dash for the laundry room, strip all affected articles and stuff them in the washer in time to join the last cycle. And then I decided that it just didn't matter.

The leak was of the clear variety, not the yellow kind. It won't show. It doesn't stink. It will dry and the clothes will be good for another wearing.

People keep asking how life is with four children. I think this will be my new equilibrium - not waving the white flag of Surrender, but clutching the pragmatic handkerchief of Enough.

* Or is it requires? Is it the demands themselves (and therefore plural), or the increasing-ness of them (and therefore singular), at work here? I think there's an exchange in a play somewhere or other (Gilbert and Sullivan comes to mind, but that's not it) where this dilemma comes up, and a character deftly turns the matter aside by winding up with something like, 'Why, what a singular quandary,' and that's that.

Overheard this morning

Jane: There are only twelve letters left on the fridge! What words can I make?

(Later)

Jane: Look, Mama, I spelled Jane [using the Z sideways as an N] and Flup!

Me: Flup is not a word.

Jane: Well, we'll just call it Flap.

Easter egg hunt

More Sugar

Michael's been working long days and odd hours, so sometimes he'll come home late and in need of sustenance. 'Are you hungry?' 'Whatcha got?' is a common exchange, so I've been striving to have cookies and chocolate milk on hand despite our unofficial (meaning I intended to, but didn't quite commit to) sacrifice of sugar and grains for Lent.

Recently we watched Men In Black together, so we've also been quoting Edgar: 'Sugar. More sugar!' It's helpful to have quotations when you're too tired to formulate coherent conversation. Or, as Lord Peter Wimsey observed, 'I always have a quotation for everything - it saves original thinking.'

National Atheist Day

Per Psalm 53:1.

I wish I had thought up some really clever pranks for today. Unfortunately these occasions simply creep up on me; it was many years ago that I decided, next time, to bake a pie on March 14th, and I still haven't done it. Here's a good one from the archives:

Katy looks (and acts) so much like Jane that it's like deja vu:

Why I haven't been blogging much lately

I'm sure everyone already saw the news on Michael's facebook page, but considering that Michael Jr. is almost three months old, it's high time for a picture. Here's to better posting habits in the future!

Spellbound

Recently Jane told me, 'C and K have the same sound.'

'Yes,' I said, 'but C also has the soft C sound, and K doesn't.'

Jane pondered this a moment, and then said, 'I know a sound that K makes that C doesn't! Silent K!'

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Yesterday she was digging out magnet letters from under the fridge. 'I got the U!' she announced.

'You got the U, and I got the I,' I told her. Ha, ha! She thought that was hilarious. It's great to be such superstars to our kids.

Small fry

For a while, it was pretty easy to talk over the children's heads. They were oblivious to all but the most obvious key words, and when all else failed, we'd spell crucial tidbits of classified info. Then Jane learned to spell, and we had to rely on more elaborate forms of code. This worked for a time, but Jane quickly adapted and began cracking our evolving code-speak. 'Big one,' 'Middlest,' '1.0,' etc. were all laid bare to her quick mind. Sometimes we'd even catch her calling Ella 'Middle One.'

Recently Michael took to calling them Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, which is pretty effective at obscuring intent, if a little outdated. Now he proposes Eeny, Meeny, and Miny, which doesn't seem quite as charming, but it gets the job done.

Now that we've started showing the girls a few (older) Disney movies, we are on the receiving end of an everlasting flood of impenetrable questions. I am reminded of the quote from Drink To Yesterday:

They call her Diana the Wise.

Why?

Because she asks such an awful lot of them.

Why-? Oh, I see.

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Michael is one of the brothers in our church's production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, a fun musical which I'd never seen but the lyrics of which are quite clever. ('Being told we're also-rans Does not make us Joseph's fans.') Opening night is two weeks from yesterday, and we're in the final grueling stretch of rehearsals, which means lots of very long days. In a month or so, we hope life will return to normal.

Back, again

We're back home after almost two weeks in Oregon. I had a good life in Virginia, and I feel happily settled in Georgia, but when I travel westward I'm convinced that Oregon is in my blood. The cool weather (such a welcome relief in July!), the lush green moss and ferns, the scent of fresh fruit wafting through the air from countless roadside stands and abundant wild trees and bushes, all struck such a familiar chord with me. And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing!

We had a great time visiting family, eating feasts at different relatives' houses every day. I miss my extended family, and hope my children can grow up with something close to what I experienced as a child. Right now, though, I'm just trying to catch up on the laundry.

Summer Solstice

Today is the first official day of summer, though it's been hot enough this fortnight. At least frequent thunderstorms have removed the necessity of watering the garden. We've gotten two pickings of green beans, two salads' worth of chard, and about six tomatoes so far. Very heartening. Too bad we're going to leave it all to the birds and the drought when we leave town next month (leaving the house sufficiently staffed with ferocious guard dogs, of course).

This week I hope to take the tots on a blueberry-picking expedition. I think Jane and Ella might be old enough to contribute to the general bucket, and if we leave early enough it might not be too hot. Meanwhile we lie about indoors under ceiling fans, trying to move as few muscles as possible and coming up with recipes for cold soup. And then Michael, who is not nearly such a martyr to frugality, comes home and rescues us by turning up the A/C. I do not relish the thought of three more months of this.

Very quickly, now

Blogger has been most annoying lately. (Or maybe it's been going on for a long time, and I just haven't posted much lately...) It seems all I have time for these days is the occasional picture post with quick captions, but I give that up all too easily whenever Blogger has conniptions. Hence few posts. It is a pity, because as Lord Goring observed, I am quite full up of information and feel like the latest edition of something-or-other, only there is no one in the house to talk to. Except, as it happens, that is hardly the case, as Jane and Ella provide ample conversation these days. Alas that baby books run out of room after about the first year.

Jane: Why does my car seat have arm rests?
Me: To rest your arms.
Jane: Or maybe to rest your elbow, when you're untangling a tangle.

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Ella: Please hold me! Jane is being Ursula!
Me: Ursula is just pretend, and Jane is not mean.
Ella (to Jane): Ursula, you are not mean.

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So we went to a tax day tea party at the state Capitol last Thursday. It was important to go, and the train ride downtown was an adventure for the girls. In truth, I've fallen under a deep cloud for the last month re: healthcare, and it's hard for me to see how any good can come of the breakdown of our economy and the dissolution of our country. Of course I always knew that America wouldn't be around for the end times, since it doesn't merit a mention in Revelation, but I never expected to be there to see it. Have I mentioned that I've been feeling rather bleak lately? Not at all related to turning thirty next week, which doesn't depress me in the least, because I'm mathematically savvy enough to realise that I entered my thirtieth year last birthday.

These are my children

Eating chocolate cake batter for breakfast:






















Stepping on each other in the snow:

















Picking bugs up off the floor:

















Sticking scissors in the mouth:

Happy Easter!

Happy Pi Day!

Bother, once again I forgot to bake a pie. Next year I shall plan better, quotha.

Now We Are Three

Behind the times

Merry Christmas y'all.