Lights . . .

The kids are old enough to venture around the free rides area of the Forsyth Family Fest while I hold station in the shade of the pavillion.

Being honored as grand marshalls of the parade was a fun time -- complete with a horse-drawn carriage to haul our crew.  (Thank you, Forsyth!)

Evening fireworks which we viewed from just 3 blocks from our home, in a spot that was visited by only our family and one (1!) other family, and the breeze was blowing -- no mosquitos!  Relaxing  .  .  .  Ahhhh.

A daughter's style sense is progressing nicely, and her growing confidence is shining through.

Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappacino (or whatever it's called?) at Starbucks.  It's coffee.  It's chocolate.  To-tal-ly satisfying.  Topped with CHOCOLATE whipped cream.  Delectable.

New fort-playset-to-connect-to-new-treehouse is moving along .  .  .  and the boys are having a time working on it together.

Z's zumba is kicking my petootee -- and that's good, very, very good for my health.  I need someone to push me, to exercise at all!

My son, who's choice of fuel is jelly beans, won a jelly-bean guessing contest at the library.  Yep, he won a jar of 557 colorful beans of gel  .  .  .  His guess was only 7 off.  The man knows his candy!

Choxie dessert truffles on the end-cap clearance spot at Target -- one box for Chad and one box for moi!  Yay, us.

Lean Cuisine Linguini Carbonara.  Peas, bacon, cream sauce, basil, red peppers.  Super yummy and sort of balances the chocolate.

My $3 reading glasses from Wal-mart have worked thus far to prevent ANY headache even after 2 days of nearly endless reading.  Yay, me, some more.

More from Rohr

Excerpted from Father Richard Rohr's 6/17/12 post:

"I can’t believe that God expects every human being to start from zero and to reinvent the wheel of life in their own small lifetime. We must build on the common 'communion of saints' throughout the ages. This is the inherited fruit and gift which is sometimes called the Wisdom Tradition. It is not always inherited simply by belonging to one group or religion. It largely depends on how informed, mature, and experienced your particular teachers are  .  .  .  (growing) from "my religion which has the whole truth" to "universal wisdom which my religion teaches in this way.” If it is true, then it has to be true everywhere.

  .  .  .  collective and common wisdom .  .  .  keeps recurring in different religions and with different metaphors. But the foundational wisdom is usually the same  .  .  ."

Flies

Damn.  It died.

Monkey Saves a Bird

As I'm in the middle of three tasks -- reading (procrastinating) to prep for my class that begins Monday, hauling to the basement organized tubs of toy overflow from the soon-to-be-rearranged girls' rooms, and rotating laundry through machines, Hunter interrupts task-master, cranky mom insistently, "Mom, there's a hurt bird."  He will have my attention -- it's in his voice, on his face, and planted firmly in his stance upon the basement stairs.  My little monkey, funny man, diplomat, gentle caretaker, has an outward disposition that belies his ability to step up and stand firm.  And today he will protect this bird. 

He guards the fledgling from the family dog, Bogey, while I call the vet and then the Raptor Center for guidance.  I leave a message and follow the instructions to check their website.  After relaying to Hunter that this bird is going through it's normal process of plopping to the ground while trying to fly and will hop around for some days as it grows more feathers and finds things to eat, I am challenged by my little man that the bird's left leg is injured; he can hear it "crackling." 

He buys my collaborative argument that we don't know if the bird is injured or not, that he isn't a bird expert and doesn't really know, and that it is best that we not touch the bird to find out.  With clear direction, Hunter gets to work posting a sign on the inside of the mudroom door as reminder to all not to let the dog into the yard unattended, and another note on the door from the garage to the yard for Dad to notice the bird so as not to create a calamitous accident when continuing work on the tree house construction.

Now, I just pray to God that this thing begins to move around the yard, toward a shrub, as it should.  If it is, indeed, healthy, then we will not be able to know how it is doing after today, because it will be adept at moving around undetected.  Hunter could at least, then, hope the best has happened for his vulnerable underling.

Passing It Along

Excerpted from 6/9/12 post by Father Richard Rohr:

"Niels Bohr, the Danish physicist who was a major contributor to quantum physics and nuclear fission, said the universe is 'not only stranger than we think, but stranger than we can think.'  .  .  .  Of all the religious rituals and practices I know of, nothing will lead us to (the) place of .  .  .  vulnerability more than forms of solitude and silence, where our ego identity falls away, where our explanations don’t mean anything, where our superiority doesn’t matter .  .   .  God is not only stranger than we think, but stranger than the logical mind can think  .  .  .  "

Truth or Dare?

I am old.  Seriously.  Anna and some friends are playing "Truth or Dare" in the living room (on the couch in front of my open office door, out of which is my direct view from my desk -- they might as well be sitting in my office as they answer "Who was your first grade crush?")  .  .  .  using a cell phone or ipad or ipod app.  It's some techno gizmo or gadget with icons and apps.  Back in my day, we had to invent the questions and make up the dares (wagging wrinkled hand in the air to emphasize my passionate cry for the good ol' days)  .  .  .  'cept this app, being associated with some business or other must have a sense of responsibility to the customers -- ultimately the old people parents of the app-users, and I admit that this techno-version is, uh, it ain't a bad thing that this is a bit less creative than when my friends and I used to play.  Yeah, one girl had to snort like a pig near someone unsuspecting (i.e. Hunter battling xbox in the upstairs boy cave), followed, of course by the requisite running back to the safe haven of the "girls' living room."  Much better than blind-fold tasting a spoonful of Thousand Island dressing, or mooning the window, or God knows what else we invented in the age of rotary phone and casette tape that this 39-year-old brain has forgotten.

A Heart in Haiti

A 12-year-old boy in Haiti by the name of Junior is in need of heart surgery; without it, he may have months to live, at best.  We've made a few contacts -- the ones that we know -- to try to find someone who knows someone  .  .  .  who could do the surgery pro bono in the U.S.  As none of the leads attempted by other persons has yet to be the answer, please consider talking with hospital persons you know about how we might find a surgeon and hospital that are able and willing to be Junior's answer.  Message me here, on Facebook, or by email.  Thanks!

Transition

All A's and B's x 4, free movie rentals from Family Video, and $3 Mini-Murphs make-at home pizzas  .  .  .  and for me, some quiet time AT HOME (!) to sip Starbucks and begin to get a handle on the hurricane I call my home office.  Ahhh  .  .  .  Summer.

Three Moms . . .

Our friends, their mom, and the moms with whom they're working:

    http://www.haitianfamiliesfirst.org/blog/

I'm looking for . . .

another word for "captivity," said Baylor to explain why she'd retrieved the thesaurus from my office. 

Ah, the final paper for my spring grad class has been submitted, which brings a short time of, well, time.  At least the freedom to blog, again, about the silly things that happen in all households with children, the moments that give the kind of humor that I've nonetheless enjoyed over the past few weeks, but haven't had the luxury of typing it down for myself, for the kids to read when they're older, for anyone out there who might, also, have a chuckle. 

What third grader uses a thesaurus?  Seriously.  It seems fitting that she is presently prancing around with her smoothed, "teenage Hermione" hair in anticipation of her friend's Hogwarts birthday party tonight.  What a Hermione she is!  Except when she's Ramona, dreaming up a lemonaide business to profit the hundred dollars she "needs" for an iPod Touch.  Okay, whatever, honey.

I know I'd been excessively focused on one particular task (writing my paper) when said task is finally completed and ordering mulch, sorting out the piles on my desk, and scrubbing the uck out of the bathrooms feels like wild abandonment.  Ah, look at me, I'm wild and crazy, foot loose and fancy free.  Who knows what I'll do next -- maybe, I know, maybe I'll do yoga, or, or  .  .  .  make some lists!