How the Larva of a Moth Helped Name Their Sister

On his way inside this morning, Nolan found a caterpillar on the patio.  He made a home for it in a plastic container filled with leaves and kindly offered it a small ball to play with.

The Aunts took interest.  They were anxious to know what this fuzzy creeping thing could become (assuming it survives Nolan).  Olivia brought in her Family Field Guide of Butterflies and a very serious search ensued at my kitchen table.  With no results.

I googled "White caterpillar with black spikes", which furnished a link to a design blog with the answer:   Nolan's friend will someday be a Harvester Tussock Moth.  Now we know.

He named it Tree Head.

That same design blog linked to a 1940s song and dance.  The song was lame (in my humble opinion), but thankfully I skipped ahead to take a look at the dance.  It was a tap dancing lady (apparently pretty famous) and she was amazing.

See?  Amazing.

What does a fuzzy white caterpillar and a spirited tap dance have to do with design?  I didn't stay long enough to find out.  The name Tallulah distracted me.

"If someday you have a sister," I said to my boys, "her name will be Tallulah."

We all got a kick out of that one.  After the laughing ebbed, after we lost interest in repeating the name "Tallulah" in interesting ways, a sobered Nolan said in his most pensive tone, "I want to name my sister Dinosaur."

"How about Dinosaur Tallulah Mitchell?"  I offered.  And we were satisfied.  So there you go.

Dinosaur Tallulah Mitchell.

I'm sure PTB will be psyched.

Dreams of Being Strong Girl

"Mama, come play with me!"  Gerret entreats after dinner.

I follow him (running at full speed) into my bedroom.

"Let's play on the bed."  He climbs up and pats a spot on the bed to show me exactly where he'd like me to end up.  I oblige.

"What are we going to play?"

"Superhero!"  That is shouted like duh Mom, what else would we play?  Superhero has been the number one pick for the past few weeks.

"I be Strong Boy!"  This is expected.  Strong Boy is the superhero of choice --after Iron Man, but you can only be Iron Man if you have the Iron Man mask... which he does not.  So Strong Boy it is.

"Who should I be?"  Sometimes I am assigned Strong Girl or the Incredible Hulk.  Not tonight.

"No!  I be Strong Boy!"

"Right.  But who should I be?"

"You just be Mama."

"Do I do anything?"

"You stay there."  He points at that same spot on the bed.

Carnivals, fairs, festivals and the like

are overpriced.

I knew this at the outset, but we needed something distracting today, so I took my boys to the Trumansburg Fair.

I forked over $4 just to drive in the entrance, knowing that most everything post-entrance would also cost something.  $2 for one kiddie ride.  $3 for a small cotton candy.  $3 to look under one rubber duckie.  $18 for unlimited rides.  You get the idea.  It adds up.  As your wallet empties, you think We should have gone to Six Flags.

But the Trumansburg Fair is right downtown, so I guess you pay for the convenience and it turns out $4 will pay for more than just the entrance.

We...
    interacted with goats, cows, and their babies
    saw black leopards, lemurs, kangaroos, and their friends
    filled our Redneck quota for the year.  Maybe the decade.
    watched German Shepards roll over and jump through rings
    attended a show featuring "affectionately trained" black bears


A discussion of favorites on the way home:
Nolan most loved the train ride.
Gerret's favorite was the cotton candy.
I was amazed by the black bears.  Really!  They danced, clapped, climbed ladders, sat on tall barrels, and balanced on their hind legs while drinking from a bottle, all on command.  I would pay $4 for that any day.  (If I wasn't so enthralled, maybe I would have taken a picture)
Gerret concurred and added that he liked the dogs.

The Trumansburg Fair = An Expensive Success

This is What Happened During Nap Time Today

Gerret cuddled with his "fuzzy" pillow and quickly fell into a deep, 3-hour sleep.  

Nolan loaded his bed with books, dogs, a monkey, and three or four pillows.  

He came out five minutes later to use the bathroom (which I had requested he use before nap time, but he didn't.  Oh well.)

Five minutes later, he came out because he needed to give Cinder a kiss.  After kissing her, he announced that she wanted to sleep with him (he can read her mind) so I helped her into bed with him.

Approximately ten minutes after she went in, Nolan came out and claimed he was done sleeping.  I let him know that I was sure he hadn't yet gone to sleep.  When I helped him back into bed, I found the cat stretched across his pillow.  I suggested that she needed to come out with me, but he insisted that he was happy to sleep on the other end of the bed with a different pillow.  (Good thing he had stocked up on pillows earlier.)

Within a few minutes I heard his door creak open and quickly close.  Cinder trotted into the kitchen where I was trying to get some chores accomplished.

Five minutes later, Nolan came out for a drink.  I gave him a drink, tucked him for the millionth time, and told him that he could not come out again until he had taken a good nap.

He stayed in his room and came out at the end of twenty minutes because he "took a good nap".  Those were his words, not mine.

I told him he could stay up, but he needed to go into my bedroom and read books until I came to get him.

So he read.  Then he got out some scissors and made confetti.  

Then he got out the glow-in-the-dark paint.  Thankfully, he came to ask if he could use the paint before he squirted it anywhere. 

I set up the paint in the kitchen and had him clean up the confetti, then we both painted.

After painting got old, he made soup by mixing water into the paint.

We then took lots of pictures and got the cat involved.

As per Nolan's request, we made decorations for Love You Day. 

Nolan taped them up on the bench, window, table, and door.

Gerret woke up.  We said "Happy Love You Day!"

The end.

Love You Day Decorations

one thing that made me laugh

Breakfast in our home is a PTB production.  He prepares and serves it while I shower (or sleep in).  I usually show up on the scene part or most of the way through the meal.  (And I always feel humbled and so very, very grateful.)

Breakfast in our home involves some entertainment of the cartoon variety.  This so that PTB can prepare food while two groggy little boys patiently wait.  On Sunday, the entertainment tries to be reverent or religious in some way.

Today is Sunday.  This morning I entered the kitchen to be greeted by a very excited Nolan who had just concluded his Sunday morning entertainment.

"Mama!"  (I believe both hands were waving in the air as he ran toward me.)  "I watched the Lamanites and the Goodites!"

Tribute to Fit Companions

 birthday card she made me 

I have a friend who I am starting to miss.  I have a friend who I've already shed a few tears over.
Because she is moving next month and I am anticipating her move.
Her schedule is packed -packing, preparing, making trips to get things ready.  That sign in her front yard is a sharp reminder.  FOR SALE.
It could not have been just coincidence that we ended up in the same small corner of the world for the same few years.  She was here right when I desperately needed a friend, an encourager, another point of view, someone to laugh with and work with on lonely days.  That she was right here -was not an accident.
There are people who come into my life just when I need them.  Even when I don't know I need them.  They are evidence to me that I am watched over.  They help me understand that my life is more intricately woven than I can see on my own.  They make me hope that I will be that for somebody else.  An instrument.  A sweet solace in what could have been turmoil.
That is what my friend has been.  A bit of sunshine.  How much I have enjoyed talks with her, appreciated her service to me, and felt honored to have been even a little sunshine in her life.

Slow Down My Child!

 You're growing up too fast!
How is it possible that four years have come and gone?
Four years when I was in high school seemed like its own eternity.
And now this-- I took home a little bundle from the hospital (it was you) and watched it grow and change before my eyes (you really have).  In just four years!
Suddenly four years seems more like a dream.

As for the next four years, I hope they're something more than what you've had.
Not that you've had anything terrible, but I feel like you deserve so much more.
I hope you will have a nice bedroom in the next four years.  The window will be open on summer nights and fresh air will course through it while you rest.  And perhaps you will have a closet filled with magic --or at least toys and books.
I hope there will be so many reasons to laugh and not so many for crying.
I hope that the world will stop eroding your parents, that your mother will find a way to build on what remains.  And build you.
I hope you will become confident in yourself and your family and your god.
In the next four years.

Anticipation

This is the first year that Nolan has voiced an opinion about his birthday.  He wants breakfast for dinner, a dance party, chocolate cake, and every toy in existance.  He has been talking about this for a good month now.  Thankfully, we're nearing the end.  Decorations are going up, dance party songs are being selected, I plan to spend a large portion of my day in the kitchen, and this is gracing our fridge:

Almost Four with Talking Shoes

A trip to Walmart
for birthday preparations
leads to meanderings
around the toy department:

boys hoping to take home
everything on the shelves
(or at least one small thing)
mother hoping to locate
THE magnificent gift

After dawdling amongst the toys for something of an hour today, and not really finding a thing judged to hold interest for more than a handful of days, I return home wondering what I could give to my almost-four year old. In all reality, I could give him anything --large and $100 or trashy and $1-- and he would be pleased. By pleased, I mean his eyes would light up and his imagination would run wild. [Though it's usually running that way anyway.]

I have loftier dreams. I want to give him something more than momentary pleasure. I'd like it to last for at least a week or two. (Is a lifetime asking too much?) My boy will only turn four once. Plus, my earliest memory is of riding the bike I was given for my fourth birthday. No wonder I stay in Walmart, dawdling, for much longer than I care to be doing either activity. No wonder I return home still wondering.

Wondering often turns to listening. ...Listening to a tune or the crickets beyond my window or the rush of cars or movement upstairs. Or is it just me? Anyway... there I am wondering my way back to the Burg when suddenly my mind turns off and my ears turn on.
I hear: Two little voices jabbering away in the back seat. Two separate conversations. Two rollicking boys seem to be talking to their own persons.
Curious, I tip the mirror.
I see: Two boys, holding their shoes, one in each hand. Two boys engrossed in their own imagined world.
And what are those shoes doing? Conversing of course! I am hearing the conversations of four sandals.

Listening often returns to wondering.  If my boy --soon to celebrate four glorious years of life-- is entertained by a pair of sandals (or a few carrots at dinner), what could I give him that would be somewhat lasting?  What earthly object, wrapped up and ribboned, could signify how delightful these four glorious years have been?
 A pair of boots?

"Mama, look at me!"

"Oh my heavens, boy, you're in the dryer."

"Stay right there, let me get the camera."

Ahhhh.  To be the mom of a boy. or two.

six on the sixth

That is 6 years of marriage to my boy.  And that is the very best six of anything I could ever hope for.  I hate to get all mushy, but here I go...


Ahem.


 I would prefer to spend every spare second with PTB.  
I'd rather be with him scrubbing toilets than doing the most exhilarating activity with any other person.  That is to say, there is no one in the world I would rather be with.  I have the most fun, the most laughs, the most peaceful quiet when I am with him.  He makes me smile when things are gloomy.  He makes me smile bigger when things are happy.   He writes things like this to me -and not just on special days.  He leads me when I need someone to follow.  He encourages me to be my best.  He treats me more kindly than I have ever been treated.   Trials are less trialy when we're ploughing through together.  Dreams are more dreamy when we are looking forward to them together.  I am eager for every new day just to be with him. 

dinnertime activities

What do I do when I'm eating dinner with two wild boys, missing my husband, feeling fairly glum?

Spectate a fork/sword fight.

Laugh with my hilarious sons about funny ways to eat.

Sink my teeth into homegrown cucumber.

Admire the fresh cut blooms on the table.

And you know what?  I ended up not feeling so glum.

Just in case we weren't cheery enough, PTB brought home this ice cream cake from Purity and got the boys out of bed (an hour after bedtime) to eat it.  

Moving On

Life seems to be a good educator.  I'm learning from the school of experience about forgiveness -that it's hard.  I'm learning again that my happiness is dependent on my own choices and nothing else.  I'm learning that forgiveness is about letting go, it's about reaching out, it's about smiling again.  And it's hard.  I'm learning that it doesn't matter whether damage was done intentionally or unwittingly, my responsibility is to simply let go, then pick up and go on.   Forgiveness is about the ability to act and not be acted upon.  And it's hard. 

With perfect timing, this was published and it made me think. wow.  I have much more to learn.

Modified Murmuring

escape to a picnic table hide-out

Don't we all need a home to escape to from...
well..
everything else?

Shouldn't there be a place where we feel most comfortable and accepted?
Shouldn't we all have a place to relax?
Isn't home a place to ponder on and participate in the things that please us most?
Don't we need the chance to step away from the things that pull us this way and that?
Don't we need a place to go to temper the rest of the places we go?
Don't we all need a place to love?
Don't we just need somewhere that we long to be, where we wish we could stay, where we hope to return to?

Is it too bold to assert that we all deserve this home?

There. Moan complete.