low battery, no battery

3:30 a.m., Monday night/Tuesday "morning" ("morning" to me implies that it is time to get up; 3:30a.m. is therefore not really "morning"): I leaped awake (like only a parent can) with adrenaline pumping away. I heard nothing. Maybe I'd dreamed it. I tried to relax and fall asleep again. I was close to nodding off when it happened again. This time CD and I were both jolted awake. Someone was talking. It was a mechanical, computerized voice, but someone was talking. It sounded like a kid's toy.

We don't have many battery powered toys around here; we've bought none ourselves, so only a few gifts have slipped in. But those that we do own are evil. Take the Sesame Street saxophone. I can't get rid of it, because Daddy plays the sax, but the dang thing has no OFF switch. If it gets bumped in the storage room (where it lives, hoping to be forgotten) it starts to play Rock Around the Clock- and has no volume control either. Anyway, this was not Cookie Monster's voice.

We heard it again, more clearly now that we were both awake, "Low battery." Huh? We have some stupid battery powered item in our house that can talk to us? We need to hear it again to locate the source of the sound, but the delay suddenly feels longer than it did when I was trying to fall back asleep earlier. "Low battery." In our office/storage room area. CD is kind enough to get up to investigate. I'm pretty sure that whatever evil toy is talking to us is a toy that will go to Goodwill very, very soon. "Low battery." I hear him removing something plastic, taking batteries out. He returns to the bedroom with our carbon dioxide detector and puts it on his dresser. "Who thought of THAT safety device?"


7:15 p.m. Tuesday night (which meant it was still very light out, but we refer to it as "night" so we can persuade kids to go to bed.) Storms were predicted. The house was hot. The windows were open. The kids were both in the bathtub with bubbles. Not washed. Suddenly the temperature dropped and wind blew through the room. I glanced outside and saw tree branches blowing wildly. I quickly turned the bathing over to CD and went to check the radar on the computer. Red flashing light: "Tornado Warning, seven miles north of Dunwoody, heading southeast at 40 mph." That means headed here! I dashed upstairs and tried to relay the information to CD without starting a panic. We got the boys out of the tub, wiped down most of the bubbles, grabbed handfuls of pj's and both loveys (I am so a mom) and hurried everyone down the stairs.

We have no basement, and no room in the entire house without a window, but our half bath's window is into the garage so we consider it our best option. Four people were not going to fit, but I sat in the doorway. CD got the throne. He'd grabbed a couple of (long) books. The boys seemed to enjoy the adventure without getting too scared. Plus, they were up past bedtime. The storm calmed, but another cell was on its way, so we stayed put. Richard Scarry entertained. (Can you find Goldbug?)

On his way downstairs, CD had grabbed the weather radio we'd gotten from our local public radio station at a previous pledge drive. (See, you ought to ante up!) We'd never used it. It has FM, AM and shortwave, a cell phone charger, a light, and optional siren (no, thanks). I fiddled with it and got good enough reception to listen to storm reports during the Braves rain delay. Best of all, it takes no batteries.

growing my dinner

We're having our first meal of swiss chard from the garden tonight! We already thinned the onions and eaten them, plus using a couple mid sized ones last night when I found there were none in the pantry, and we've supplemented farmer's market lettuce one night too. Although there are many blooms, there is only one snow pea that I've found so far - I forgot how much I disliked veggies that camouflage themselves. At least six green tomatoes are growing already, making me wonder if we'll get a really early crop. That'd be great since we usually get cherry tomatoes until after Halloween. The more, the merrier. Most of my parsely is bolting, but there is a bit that is a year younger, so I'm letting it self seed for next winter. Parsely is really a winter crop down here anyway. I've got lots of my other herbs though: sage, marjoram, oregano, chives, rosemary and maybe garlic. (I can't remember if I planted it, but it looks more like garlic than mature chives, so it probably is.) Cilantro is like parsely, so it may or may not make it through this summer's heat. I've got two types of basil planted- sweet and purple. We all love pesto, so I'll make lots and freeze it in ice cube trays again. I love the idea of serving the kids purple pasta!

Pook isn't impressed by the garden but Bug can't wait to eat our foods. He's practically a vegetarian, only we don't cook vegetarian meals. He dislikes meats unless they're highly processed - he likes sausage, pepperoni, salami, hot dogs, ham,... (you know, healthy meats) Pook started to like tomatoes after I grew Sweet 100's one summer. Maybe he'll go for something new after getting to pick it himself. And I'm happy to give away that prize; the mosquitoes are now out.

Atlanta has these horrible, monstrosities called Tiger Mosquitoes. They're big (1/4 inch long?) have striped bodies, and the worst of it is, they're out all day. Pook is immune to any bites. They may drink his blood and leave the possibility of lime disease, but no mark is visible and there's no itch. Bug, on the other hand, is a magnet like his mama. He scratches till he bleeds, although there are so many scrapes and bruises on those little legs that one can hardly tell.

He and I perused the front yard, looking at new blooms. The initial spring flush is gone, and even phase two, the iris, are finished. But my daylillies have lots of buds and my roses are covered with blooms. Last fall I transplanted one I found in my side yard- a scrawny thing with no blooms. It has done well in the new location, but the purple color clashes badly with the others, so it'll have to pack up for another move next winter. I love the idea of having a twelve month garden down here; it is possible to have something in bloom at all times, even without annuals. I should put in some snapdragons to bloom next winter; pansies bloom in the winter and can even take snow, but I really don't want to be stuck watering anything in this drought. (The one that has given us rain about once a week since January.)

coming soon to Bejing

I have my favorite new word since "Burpday" was recently retired. (In December 2002, at her birthday, my sister said that I should enjoy Pook's word since it would probably not last. Turning seven last week was the first time it wasn't a Burpday.)

Bug woke up excited and eager to go to school. Today is his last day of class, class party and a "Mini Field Day". However, that title just wasn't up to Bugs standards. He likes things B I G. And so he has declared it to be the "Aklympics" instead. I suppose since he does live in "Aklanta" that this is quite appropriate.

He found a shirt with a number on it. (Perhaps so the tv commentators could identify him?) It was important. Then some fast shorts. "Are these tall socks fast?" He settled on short socks. "Do I have to wear my regular shoes?" (I could tell he really wanted to wear cleats but knew better.) The answer was yes, regular shoes.

After breakfast I got into the shower. He was hanging out in the bathroom with me. Suddenly, "I need an Aklympic flag!" Well, go make one dude. He runs out, returning when I was drying off, holding a light green flag, cut from rectangular paper into a rectangle (these things are always important) and decorated with green stripes and some adorable orange stars that looked like suns. After negotiating my way out of sending the handle of my Swiffer to school, I helped him tape his flag onto a dowel flagpole. He waved it around and started humming. I asked if he had Aklympic music too. "No, but I can write some!" He ran off.

He came back, beaming with excitement, holding a paper I must, must, must scan if I can get it back. It looked a bit like this:

//.///././////.//.././//

ADK/IO/DA/MOM

"What does it sound like?!" I hummed an Olympic theme. The scowl led me to believe I had read the music wrong. (Reading this type of music is not my forte and I've been in this bind before. It is similar to the "oijt What does that spell?" phase. I recognize the trap.) "Just read the letters," he says with impatience. I tried the tune of my Olympic theme again with letters: "A D K IO...." The telltale signs of a meltdown were showing around the edges. Maybe, just maybe he'd hum it for me. Otherwise I was in trouble. "Bug, can you hum the music that was in your head while you were composing this?" Thank goodness he agreed. Great tune he picked for the Aklympics too: What can you do with a drunken sailor? I hummed along. He was happy. He packed his flag and music to take to class.

I'm bringing the drinks to the Aklympics today. I'm sticking with juice boxes because I worry about having drunken sailors participating in Aklympic sports. Could be messy.

parents morning in

Pook has eight days of school left. I'm invited to two of them. Bug has four days of school left. I'm invited to three. Since I don't get to add the eight and two to give me ten more days of kids in school, but I do have to add the days I'm supposed to be in attendance, I'm in major countdown mode. And not the same way the kids start counting down either.

It isn't that I had anything particularly exciting to do today. However, I usually go to the YMCA for yoga on Wednesdays-- and I will be sorry to miss it. I'd rsvp'd "no" to the class "Parent Appreciation Luncheon" until I found out I was the only selfish parent in the class, including the mom with the 12 day old baby. So, I'm going. It is cold and damp today and I'm not really in great picnic mode, but I'm trying to remind myself to appreciate the truly important things in my life. And Bug does squeeze in above yoga. Then he has a mini-field day Monday and a stage performance next Wednesday. (No yoga then either.)

I'll be scooping ice cream for the library's Something-to-thank-kids-for-reading Day on Tuesday at Pook's school, and have promised Bug he can put sprinkles on the ice creams for the kids. Then Thursday Pook has Step-Up day where they spend a day in class with next year's teacher. I'd like to meet her but I won't stay there long and am not even counting it against my free days. Friday will be his class party and I was suckered into helping. I have a strong sense of guilt. And, of course, I'm reminding myself to "appreciate the truly important things in my life."

I made a list last May of all the things we could do over the summer. And we crossed off many, but not all of the items. I kept the list and saw it not too long ago in my desk somewhere. If I can put my hands on it, it'd be fun to add to it/amend it some and try again.

I didn't plan last summer very well. We had too many weeks of swimming lessons which were inconveniently scheduled for 10 and 11am. It kept us from doing much at all if I wanted Bug to nap. Which I did. So, mostly we swam last summer. There was a visit to my parents and a week of camp at our church, but it was pretty boring overall.

This summer I've tried to scatter the events a bit better and I don't know if swimming lessons will fit in or not. We can swim every day regardless, since the county pool is literally across the street from our house ($35 for a season pass!). We've got a new birthday chemistry kit to mess with, invitations to three different farms (eggs, blueberries and cows, and general veggies), a plane ride to my parents again, two camps each (only one overlapping), a vacation to the Outer Banks, and memberships to Stone Mountain, the Botanical Gardens and the Atlanta Zoo. I've also got plans to swap kids with friends a few times. I hope that does it and gives us balance. Primarily I want them to be outdoors with the neighbors, swimming, running around, biking and generally enjoying their freedom. Freedom I will crave after about a week of full-time Mommying. My mantra will be to "appreciate the truly important things in my life."

blood sweat and tears

Two other blogs had posts last week that have had me thinking. First, Dutch at Sweet Juniper! discussed how much attention he gets when, as a Stay At Home Dad, he takes his two kids and a dog out for a walk alone. Suddenly he is "Superdad" despite the fact that he has done it a thousand times. Mary P. over at It's Not All Mary Poppins, is told that she's "lucky" that the five toddlers she cares for are so well behaved in public. It has me ticking off of all the things my children do for which I am proud. Proud of me. Yes, I'm proud of them for many things that they do. But some of the things they do are the product of my blood, sweat and tears. I am neither "Supermom" for accomplishing them, nor "lucky" for not having to work for them. I earned them.

Pook has always been a good sleeper. I'll give him that as a basic character trait. I'd be on the phone with my mom during his nap and tell her I needed to go; he'd be awake in a minute. How could I know that? Well, he usually slept between 59 and 61 minutes at each of his three naps: 9am, 12noon and 3pm. Bug didn't exactly fall into that pattern. I worked my butt off to get him to nap at all. Irregular sleep is probably more typical for a child, but I made naps available to him regularly. Pook continued to nap or at least rest alone quietly for an hour until about Christmas of kindergarten. Bug is four and still naps daily. I am not lucky. I gave up a lot of activities. I made sure my children were home and in their own beds every day. I was as consistent and routine as is possible. And now I reap the benefits.

Bug will eat anything. He is curious about foods by nature. He wants to taste the baking soda, the raw onion, the salsa. Pook has been skeptical about new foods since he started to eat them. Bug was a great influence on him for a very brief time. Quite soon after watching his baby brother enjoy spicy foods and, mostly, vegetables, Pook simply wrote him off in that department. But I persist. I think that if left alone he would have been a buttered pasta eater. I was a very picky eater, so I understand, but I do insist. He must taste new items and he must eat "his age" in some type of vegetable. And he does. He might not want to eat something, but by trying them he has added many, many items to his repertoire.

They come with inborn traits. Some things they learn from us. The rest we shape. We form the raw material and we get to be proud of what we create.