Sick Day

Today we had to skip school. It was too beautiful to be indoors. It was in the high sixties, dry, sunny, and no wind.

Since one usually feels miserable on sick-days, today we took our sick-day on a day when we were all feeling great. This way we could take full advantage of the lovely weather.

I finally did something I have been planning to do for the past seven years. We have a clearing in our woods where we hung a hammock and have a simple wooden bench. At first the kids and I were only going to hang a rope from a tree limb. But the project took on a life of its own and we ended up sawing, sanding, drilling and making a beautiful tree swing. The tree limb overhangs part of a hill, so the swing doesn't need to be pushed very high to be eight-to-ten feet off the ground on one side of the arch.

My goal is to plant some bulbs and maybe a Lady Banks rose & red honeysuckle around the woods so it's filled with flowers. We are already blessed with yellow jessamine winding wildly all through the woods in the spring. Sparkleberries and huckleberries are everywhere in the summer.

Once we had a British bishop come for an afternoon lunch. He peered into our back yard and politely exclaimed, "Ahhhh, what a lovely gaah-den." I was absolutely delighted at his words because I had never looked at our yard that way. My more cultured and erudite friend, Susan, told me that in England they call their yards, "gardens," so he probably didn't mean anything more than "You have a nice back yard." But that didn't take away the enchantment I felt at the image of my children romping my beautiful garden with flower petals falling all around their heads (Lady Banks Roses will do that at the end of a bloom).

So we hung the swing, and Rose took off up the hill. She was gone for 30 minutes or more. When she returned she was pulling a wagon containing sandwiches, hot tea, popcorn and warm Lenten whole wheat chocolate chip cookies (which were sinfully delicious).

Each of us had sandwiches made the way we like them (Max: PBJ; Ella: PB; Meggy: ham, lettuce, tomato, mustard & mayo (no the children don't fast); LMk: PBJ; and Me & Rose: sautéd mushrooms and tomatoes on health-nut bread).

I sat on the bench with my sandwich and watched the children as they ate. The leaves have gone somewhat beyond their color and have begun to turn maroonish and brown. The light seemed to give everything a pinky glow.

Rose and LMark were sitting side-by-side in the wagon. Ella was swinging sleepily on the hammock with her leg in the air (I don't know why). Margaret was kneeling in the pine straw to the side of the swing. And Max was kicking himself slowly back and forth in the swing, with his arms wrapped around the ropes so he could eat his sandwich. It was very quiet.

"...Mom, dis is the best day evah."

So I have been thinking. The reason mothers take so many pictures of our children is because we look at certain moments and can't imagine anything more wonderful or more beautiful than what we're looking at right now. But sometimes there are those moments when I'm glad I don't have a camera, because I am certain my mind will recall it better than a camera ever could.

So this image is it.

High Society

Little Mark spent the day dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, a waistcoat, and a bicycle helmet. He obviously doesn't have his father's fashion sense

Today I took Max, Meggy, Ella & their weekly playmate, Zoe, to a newly constructed park near us to ride their bikes. Max recently began riding without training wheels, and I told him he needed to practice before I take him to the Riverwalk. Because this park is new, and not officially opened by the county, there was no one on the grounds and nothing in the parking lot except seven very large vultures. But the fact that this park isn't technically open doesn't mean people don't go down there regularly to leave their trash and beer bottles in various places. One of the amenities of an "open" park in Lexington County must be the presence of trash cans.

One notable thing my little archaeologists found was a broken wine glass. They were terribly excited, and tried to find all the pieces. Zoe had a basket on her bike so they brought all of the pieces back to the van to bring home with them. I told them absolutely not. So I had to pick about fifty pieces of glass out of the basket. They were ridiculously disappointed and tried to make me feel like I was hampering their education. They had planned to glue it all back together when they got back to the house. Instead they had to be satisfied with "meteoroids" and "space alien eggs" they found buried in the soccer field.

Usually when I take the kids anywhere, and it's time to leave, I ask, "So, did y'all have a good time?" I asked this as I was putting the bikes into the trunk of the van. "Yeh-es!" came from all of the children except one.

Ella's bitter little voice murmured, "It would have been more fun if you had let us play with the broken glass..."

Purgation 2007

Last night began the Great Purgation of 2007. In preparation for St Nicholas Day, one birthday, three Western-Christmas celebrations, and one Nativity which will bring in more inventory than our 2,000 sq. ft. home can handle, we had to purge.

Every few months I find a way to distract the children while I enter their rooms with a Hefty bag and an unsentimental heart. I throw away all their broken toys, everything that is missing its accompanying part or remote control, and anything I'm just tired of looking at or stepping on.

Unfortunately, I have bred five little dragons who guard their hoard of toys like the beast guards his treasure. Maybe it is because their fallen nature is peeking through their innocent exteriors. Or maybe it's because they have a wicked mother who sneakily and unsentimentally rifles through their junk and commits it to outer darkness.

To psychologize I could say that my mother was and is something of a pack-rat. So I am less inclined to be one. I do, however, treasure two toys and one book from my childhood that I wouldn't dream of throwing away. The book is Little Bear, and one of the toys is a wooden train.

The other toy is a plastic yellow staircase that went with my Fischer Price doll house (which went on to meet it's great reward many years ago--or maybe it's in my mom's attic). This staircase had three steps and a banister. But the thing I loved about it was the door and cubbyhole underneath the stairs. The Fischer Price people fit perfectly, and I always wanted a house with a cubby like that. So, until I get the house, I'll hold onto my staircase.

Grace at Thanksgiving

Here's a story from today's homily by St Nikolai on Ephesians 2:5, 8: By grace ye are saved.

A child was traveling by night. He stumbled and fell into hole after hole and pit after pit, until he finally fell into a very deep pit from which he could in no way escape by his own power. When the child gave himself over to the hands of fate and thought his end was near, there was suddenly someone standing over the pit, lowering a rope to him and telling him to grab the rope and hold firmly to it. This was the king's son, who then took the child home, bathed him, clothed him and brought him to his court and set him beside himself. Was this child saved by his own deed? By no means. All he did was to grab the end of the rope, and hold on. By what then was the child saved? By the mercy of the king's son. In God's relationship with men, this mercy is called grace. By grace ye are saved.

10 Years

Today is the ten-year anniversary of our church.

Over my brief life as an Orthodox Christian I have learned that the Orthodox have certain ways of phrasing things. When speaking of Mary, I don't just say "Mary," or even "the Blessed Virgin," but rather, "the Theotokos." I rarely use the name of Jesus unless I'm praying, but more often "Christ" or "Our Lord" in conversation. In a casual exchange with a WalMart cashier, I might say "Thank God," "God Willing," or "Glory to God" just as easily as I might say "Have a nice day."

Although some might say it is a mere habit, I think it is a conscious decision to acknowledge God as my Author and Creator.

If I call something a "coincidence," or if the words "Good luck" ever cross my lips (!) I feel like I have committed blasphemy. So if I want to talk of an interconnected series of events that might have produced a favorable or interesting conclusion, I instead use the very pious sounding word, "Providence."

Of course the smarty pants priest I live with messes up my pious feelings by saying, "Actually if you acknowledge God is God, then everything is Providence, and what you're trying to say makes no sense."

But anyway, today is the tenth anniversary of the beginning of our little church, St Elizabeth the New Martyr. The Gospel reading today was Luke 14: 25-35. This is the part I find to be applicable to our anniversay (i.e. providential):

And whoever does not bear his cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it--lest, after he has laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, 'This man began to build and was not able to finish...'

And that's all I really wanted to say.

Having a Ball

Our homeschool group has a winter formal every year as a fund raiser for the yearbook. Last year was Rose's first year to attend. She had a good time, but the theme was Under the Sea so they played Disney's Little Mermaid music over and over all night long. This year the theme will be A Night in Paris.

Someone offered to teach ballroom dancing to the kids (and parents) for free. So last Monday and tonight Rose and I went ballroom dancing. We learned the waltz last week and the cha cha this week. We're going to learn something easy next Monday, and then spend the next several weeks on the shag.

I don't think I'll ever be able to use these steps since we go to church instead of dance clubs. But it's nice to know that I can do it. Prior to last week I danced like Napoleon Dynamite--I mean Deb.

Slow, Steady and One Hour Late

Mark & I returned this evening after checking out the new retirement community Mark’s dad & step-mother are moving to in June. It is near Griffin Georgia, which is south of Atlanta. They were looking at the same type of community in Charlotte, which is closer to us, but decided on the same house in a different location because it’s much less expensive. As a result, Marilyn can retire a year earlier, and they’ll be in the same financial circumstances as they would if they had waited another year and moved to Charlotte.

The leaves were changing and the drive was magnificent. We had an hour of extra time to enjoy it because Lou suggested that we take highway 16 (which was a “shorter” route) vs. the Interstate (which would have taken us “out of our way”). While Mark knew all along that he should have taken the Interstate, he decided to do what is father suggested, and take the highway.

As I said, the drive was beautiful, and we had an extra hour to enjoy it. Not only did the road wind over creeks and rivers, through quaint little towns, past farms and beautiful old southern homes, we also got behind a “wide load” for about 45 minutes. It was very wide and tall, and accompanied by two pick-ups and two state troopers. It was, therefore, impossible to pass.

It was a boat. No, actually, I think it would be technically called--a ship. A ship. It was a mid-sized coast guard craft that had a crane on the back of it.

At first we laughed at it. Ha ha: a Coast Guard ship—boy won’t that be a good excuse for Mark’s dad (already waiting for us at Denny’s)? So we took pictures with the camera phone. As the hours—I mean minutes—wore on, the flashing lights became irritating, and the big black hull of the ship was not a complementary centerpiece to the majestic autumn colors framing it.

Fortunately, as we were driving through one of the little towns, the ship ran aground—or “a-curb” as the case may be. As the captains were negotiating their way out of it, we tore through back streets and around corners to find the highway again. There was no getting back to the Interstate now. Just as we were beginning to feel the freedom of the open road, a mile ahead of us there turned a pickup truck hauling a busted-up car. Its front wheels were propped up and chained inside its bed of the truck and it was going about –hmm—10? 15 miles per hour?

Decorum suggests that I bleep out what happened here.

But we arrived safely and returned home safely, thank God.

Pets

Yesterday began with a robust and well-fed-looking black cat showing up at our back door while the children were eating breakfast. They were ecstatic, because of the various animals that wander through our woods and into our back yard, few of them stay to visit. I've mentioned one before, and there are occasional rabbits, cats, and dogs. We gave the cat some tuna.

Last summer we had three St Bernards show up and spend the entire afternoon on our front porch. They had the electronic collars on, so they had obviously slipped out of someone's yard. I didn't feel comfortable enough to grab the neck of one and look at his tag. Their heads were enormous and their mouths were nappy, drippy and yucky. Bleh.

Our neighbor across the street was greeted by them as he came home from work. Rose saw this taking place, and perceiving that the neighbor wasn't going to get out of his car until the dogs went away, laid out a brilliant plan. She went outside with a fistful of hotdogs and yelled, "Hot Dogs!"

Not being the kind of person who thinks ahead, Rose wasn't ready for the onslaught of three St Bernards bounding across the street at full speed--each of which weighing more than she does wet. So she dropped the hotdogs and ran inside.

Now there lives across the street a little white Maltese that stares pitifully out the window at us like a creepy stalker. Our neighbor told us that the dog waits until he hears our van to jump on the coffee table and stare out the window. Since the weather is gorgeous right now, their window is open so he barks in a high-pitched bark that I personally wouldn't be able to tolerate. Last week, as I was walking outside I heard barking. I thought that the dog was in the yard. As it turned out, Margaret was barking at him.

She does a good impression.

In SC the weather changes strangely. We'll have freezing temperatures one day, and summer-like days the next. Not a problem, we just keep out a pair of shorts all year-round.

Today I asked Margaret what the weather was like outside. She replied, "Oh...I suppose...it's room temperature."

I Heart Serbians

Yesterday we went to the Serbian church in Charlotte for their Slava. Bishop Mitrophan was there, as were three local Greek priests, my husband, Fr Alexander, & Fr Dragan. Thirteen of our people went too: MJ, Dusan, Mx, Jn, Rt, Sv, Kr, Mil, Hp, Pr, St, Fr Mark & me.

While somewhat amusing and moderately distracting, it was immensely gratifying to see the children just as active at the Serbian church as they are at ours.

While the bishop was preaching at the end of the liturgy, I watched Dusan with interest. It was curious to see him so moved by what the bishop preached (while not understanding a word of what he said myself). When I asked Dusan today what Bp Mitrophan said that so touched him, he tried to explain, but he admitted what he was conveying was not equal to the bishop's words. In conclusion, one thing he told me was this: "Matushka, if you want to find the heart of the Orthodox Church, you look at the Russians. But if you want to find the strength of the Orthodox Church, you look to the Serbians!"

History of the Early Church: The Best Curriculum

Every first Tuesday of the month I get together with the ladies of my Purple Group. This is the name of the small group in the larger Protestant homeschool organization we are a part of. I've told the ladies that by the time our youngest children get into school, they're going to call us the grey group...

Last Tuesday my friend Elizabeth asked a general question: "Does anyone know of a good 'Church History' curriculum?"

A few of the ladies tossed out some ideas: Sonlight, Veritas, Story of the World; Mystery of History...

I kept asking myself: "What is our Church history curriculum?? What is it??"

Then it dawned on me.

Why, of course, it's the CHURCH--the ORTHODOX CHURCH. When we read the readings for the day, the saints for the day and follow the calendar of services, we are living and re-living Church History.

This is the best example of the classical approach. I could try Mystery of History to put the Early Church into a quizzable curriculum. Or I could just decide to bring my kids to church on the Nativity of the Theotokos, the Exaltation of the Cross, etc. We could get a text book and read the author's interpretation of the Early Church, or we could just live it.

The quizzes are probably more complicated in the text book approach, but I bet our final exam has more sparkly vestments.

Dumb Jokes

This evening Zoe and Asher came to visit us. Asher is Zoe’s 2 year-old brother. The family has a piano recital to attend, and toddlers aren’t allowed--to make the the experience more worshipful, they said--brilliant idea.

So they were dropped off at 6:30, and I realized how unready I was for two more children coming into the house with every intention of playing…with toys…the same toys we spent the majority of the late afternoon putting away. They also arrived with every intention of eating, eating, and eating. They’ve already had, undoubtedly, a home-cooked organic meal with greens and homemade bread, but they’re here. And Zoe has already told her brother about the occasional presence of Cheez Doodles.

For a few years I have made a joke that I get off work at 8:00 PM. The punch line of the joke, of course, is that I'm on call 24 hours a day, and I usually work 19 out of those 24 hours every day.

Another joke I have is that when the cleaning of the kitchen is done for the evening, I say the kitchen is “closed.” The punch line of this joke is similar to the one above. And I usually wake up finding the leftover meals with the shrimp or meat eaten out of it, half-eaten bowls of slimy cereal, or a bag of nachos left open all night.

I didn't realize how attached I've become to closing down the kitchen. I also didn't realize how I have become attached to 8:00--the hour I get off work.

These are dumb jokes, but I think they're funny. I didn't realize how my heart would resist getting knocked out of its comfort zone. I need to work on this.

I Want Some FRENCH Fries

To the millions of men and women who came from every country of the world and who -- with their own hands, their intelligence, and their hearts -- built the greatest nation in the world, America did not say, "Come, and everything will be given to you." Rather, she said, "Come, and the only limits to what you will be able to achieve will be those of your own courage, your boldness, and your talent...

America liberated us, and this is an eternal debt we owe America. Every time, whenever an American soldier falls somewhere in the world, I think of what the American army did for France. I think of them --and I am sad as one is saddened to lose a member of one's family...

We need France to be stronger. I am determined to carry through with the reforms that my country has put off for all too long. I will not turn back. I will implement all of them, because France has turned back for all too long. I have come to present to you today a France that comes out to meet America, to renew the covenant of friendship and alliance that Washington and Lafayette sealed in Yorktown. Together, let us be true to their memories. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I say this to you on behalf of the French people: Long live the United States of America. Long live France. Long live French-American friendship!

-Nicholas Sarkozy, President of France (11/7/07)

Straight Strong Soldiers

Friday night as Mark and I went out to WalMart (our favorite Friday night hotspot) we had to divert our drive to avoid traffic at White Knoll High School. There were three events going on: the school was playing their biggest rival in football; Senator John McCain was in attendance; and they were dedicating their new field house to one of their alumni who was killed in Iraq in 2005, Joshua Torrence.

While we were gone, Rose told us that they had flyovers about every 20 minutes by F-16's in the missing-man formation. I so wish I hadn't gone to the store.

The children and I were at this young man's funeral procession through Lexington. Prior to the procession, a man in a suit handed me flags for the children. As the caisson was going down the road, with the limousine behind, I remember the catching the mother's eye. I wanted so much to mouth "Thank You" to her, but I didn't think it would be enough from a stranger. So I put my arms around my kids and tried to communicate something with my face. I'll never forget it.

As we were driving to church today, there was something going on at the National Guard Armory. Before church they were assembling, and by the time we were returning home, there were about 150 soldiers standing at attention.

I took this opportunity to explain to Max how I want him to behave as an altar boy. I've been struggling with his behavior during the processions. He carries a little cross and leads the rest of the acolytes. His problem is not in the leading, but rather in the standing. If he thinks he's doing a particularly good job, he'll toss me a thumbs-up or a wink. He might play with the cross, try to balance it in the opening of his sticharion, put it in his pocket--or any number of innocent but horrifying tricks--including dropping it.

We've practiced and practiced. I have constantly told him he needs to stand like a "straight strong soldier." As we were passing the armory today I told him that this is how he should stand. Max seemed thoughtful. So I added that the cross he carries in the procession is the mightiest weapon in the world. That it can defeat armies.

That if you're carrying it you need to do it like one of those soldiers.

Pigs, Rivers and Planes

Tomorrow's Gospel reading is Luke 8 about the Gadarene swine. My job over the past two days has been to draw, cut and decorate little pink pigs. This Sunday School lesson could end up being as popular as the Father Mark paper dolls Nell put together last year. The end product is going to be a collage of bewildered-looking looking pigs jumping off a hill in whatever position the children choose to stick them. I can't wait.

I've seen an icon by a Melkite iconographer that had the pigs being ridden by joyful black demons with tails and ears. I'm not sure what to think of that. It's quite humorous--and definitely memorable.

Yesterday and today I took the children to the West Columbia/Cayce Riverwalk. It was totally different from the Richland County side which runs along the canal. While the ride wasn't entirely flat or easy for our novice bikers, the landscape was magical. The walkway followed the landscape of the river which meant there were plenty of bridges, boardwalks, and covered bridges curving this way and that. We all loved it. We were even under a bridge as a long two-engine train ran overhead. It couldn't have been better timing for two train-or-loud-and-large-vehicle-obsessed boys.

Friday, as we were passing the airport en route to the WCC Riverwalk, I noticed that the FedEx plane was moved out of it's usual position. Seven days a week we can pass our airport at any hour of the day or night, and see a FedEx plane parked in the same place. I've never seen one take off--always parked. Funny, though, as we were driving past yesterday, I looked over and said, "Hey, where's the FedEx plane? That looks like Airforce One------Hey!! That's Airforce ONE!!" We were all excited, even though four out of the five didn't know what they were supposed to be so excited about. The president was in town giving the graduation address at Ft Jackson.

Halloween

The past two days Rose & I have been putting together the Trick or Treat outfits for the children. Max wanted to be a scarecrow, Margaret wanted to be an "acrobatics girl", Ella wanted to be a swimsuit model, and LMark didn't care.

If I had been thinking I would have gotten through Halloween having spent only a few dollars. Max's hay would have been a dollar or two. Margaret wanted to wear the same thing she wore last year, and Ella just needed to put on her bathing suit. LMark could have gone to bed for the night and never would have been the wiser.

But, I got ambitious. I found an $8 Fireman's jacket & hat at WalMart that was perfect for Max. Then I found a Zorro hat and mask for $5 for LMark. Then Ella called me at the store and decided she wanted to be grapes. Not a problem: balloons are 99 cents a bag and grape leaves are just a couple dollars. But if I had returned home with nothing for Margaret she would have felt slighted. So I got her a little ballerina outfit.

Ella, just as we are about to walk out the door decides, as usual, to have problems with her somewhat bulky costume. But this required a mere: "OK, not a problem, you can wear your t-shirt and jeans..." At this point she decided to be agreeable and put on her grape suit. Rose told me she was all the rage around the neighborhood. Everyone they passed said, "There's the grapes girl!" A particularly funny boy held up a box of raisins to her and said, "BEHOLD, Your FUTURE!!" Ella was delighted with the attention. She's usually kind of shy so this was a big breakthrough for her.

A sweet story: We went down to my parents' house before trick-or-treating in our neighborhood. As we passed the church on the corner leading to their neighborhood there was some activity at the door. Ella said, "They must be going to church." I said, "They probably have a harvest festival going on..." Ella replied, "But they're dressed up like for church..."

As we turned the corner leaving my parents' neighborhood a short while later, Ella had made up her mind about what was going on there: "They were probably getting together to talk about how they shouldn't have scary costumes at Halloween. Because that wouldn't be a good thing to spread the Word of Christ."

We passed two anti-Halloween carnivals on the way home. There are two recently built churches within minutes from our house. They were having harvest festivities at the Life Springs Church and at the Sinner Point just around the corner. It's not really called "Sinner Point," but actually, "Centre Pointe." I think it's funny that no one realized the obviously double entendre before they finalized the signage. At Life Springs they had a hot air balloon, some spinny rides, and a few bouncy thingamajigs. At Sinner Point they had a bonfire.

Funny.

Aahhh Baahh! Otche Nash!

Aahhh! Baahh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Ben! Aaaaaaaa! Ging! Gum! Gum!

This is Little Mark singing the Lord's Prayer at full volume last night at our dinner table. It gets better, but I don't want to try to transliterate. He communicates pretty well for a 2 1/2 year old, but avoids or mumbles words that require the use of his tongue.

I've been trying to learn the Otche Nash (the Lord's Prayer) in Slavonic, but I get stuck around the "lead us not into temptation" part. If I'm standing behind a native speaker at church, I just hum along. If I am not, I belt it out as if I know it all. I probably sound a lot like my two year-old.

Katerina, Svetlana's mother, doesn't know any English, but learned one phrase: "I love you." It sounds like "Aloff you." It is very sweet. So I learned, in return, "Ya tee bya loobloo."

Sometimes I get ambitious. This summer I bought a book at our local school supply store called, The First Thousand Words in Russian. I thought it would be an easy task to write out the words and stick them on various objects around the house. I haven't done it yet, but it's on my list called, The First Thousand Things I Need to Do to Improve Myself. I plan to start on this list after I complete my other list I call, The First Thousand Things I Need to Do This Week.

The first thing on the list is, make the list. It'll help me be more organized. But first I need to finish supper.

Kind of Bored

So what is a mother of five to do when she is confronted with a situation in which all of her children are miles and miles away from her, and her husband is at a conference of priests until 3PM, and she sits in front of a computer in a hotel room unbothered by housework, unfinished jobs, unfolded laundry, and ungraded schoolwork?

She walks to Starbucks, gets an iced mocha latte and reads a book, thank you very much. I think she might have a nap too.

Better get decaf.

Dairy-Free Lettuce

Recently, every morning Ella has situated herself and her breakfast behind three boxes of cereal arranged in three-quarters of a trapezoid. I can imagine the cozy feeling she enjoys behind the boxes as breakfast table chaos reigns around her.

She has always enjoyed reading cereal boxes. I have said before that I could teach my kids anything if it were set to music. Likewise, Ella could learn anything if it were on the back of a cereal box.

She's always been an avid reader of cereal boxes, and I am often confronted with healthy advice from this seven year-old about how to reduce my blood pressure, lower my cholesterol, or increase my fiber intake.

So today she asks, "Mom, what does 'dairy-free' mean?"
I explain that some foods have milk, cheese, or eggs as an ingredient, and "dairy-free" means that it doesn't have any of that.
She replies, "So, like, lettuce in a bowl of milk isn't dairy-free..."
"Right..."
Looking thoughtful, "...You would have to take it out of the milk," she says.
"Exactly."

Just another educational moment at the Mancuso house.

Helicopter!

Mark's mom & step-dad came this afternoon to pick up the boys for the weekend. They left around 1:00. Then around 2:00, Zoe's mom dropped her off to play with the Ella & Meggy. The girls played better today than they have in months. It's probably because there were no distractions from the boys. Zoe doesn't like Max very much (he's a boy), and it's all I can do to keep the girls from rudely excluding him from everything they do--even from toys he might own or games he might instigate. Such is the life of a boy, I suppose.

After Max & LMark left, I heard a really loud noise from outside. Because we live at the very top of a very big hill, helicopters which might happen to be in the area sometimes fly over us at an alarmingly close distance. Once in a while we get military helicopters flying over us in formation, which is really loud, and super-cool for the boys. So, forgetting they were gone, I jumped up, ran to the window, "Helicopter!!" and then out the door to look at it. It wasn't particularly impressive, but for a boy...but there were no boys.

I won't try to minimize the ridiculous impression this made on the teenager, my ever-present critic, who stood smirking as I reentered the house.

Science at Our House

Margaret: "Mom, I think moths and bulls are related."
Mom: "Moths and...um...bulls?"
Margaret: "Yeah because I was looking at a moth and it looked like a bull."
Mom: "You mean a boy cow...and a moth?"
Margaret: "Yeah."
Mom: "Ok."

Today Rose opened up the science experiment she prepared a few days before she left for England. She collected scum from the bottom of a pond in our neighborhood, and added various ingredients: egg yolk, rice, and hay. The jars sat undisturbed in the back of our pantry until she returned. A few days ago, after reminding her that she needed to complete her experiment, she rifled through the pantry and pulled out a set of disgusting looking jars of grey moldy liquid. She said flippantly, "So that's what has been smelling up the house."

I was shocked. I am always vigilant about trash and diapers and food around the house because I can't smell them when they stay around too long. But I completely missed the rotting science experiment. There were a number of people who came into my house within the past three weeks and were greeted with the stench of pond scum and rotten eggs, rice, and hay. This is utterly mortifying to me.

So Dumbledore is gay...

So tonight I read all over the internet news that Dumbledore is gay. My first reaction was to mutter, "great." My second reaction was to try to spin this: "So what? It doesn't matter what a fictional character does in his private life--what matters is whether it effects his job performance...and clearly..."

Then I realized how ridiculous this sounded. A fictional character in his--private life--outside--the book...

Then I started thinking how the first article I read spun Dumbledore and the gay issue: "How Christians will have a new reason to hate the Harry Potter books."

The fact is I want to love the Harry Potter books despite being Christian: the nobility of the characters, their failures, their courage, their virtues. But boy, if one of them is gay, forget it. Gross.

Actually I'm just kidding.

The reality is regardless of Dumbledore's personal predilection, he still redeems himself just as every fallen creature of God can.

While the media loves to remind Christians of some modernized sugar-crusted idea of forgiveness, the one thing they constantly forget is redemption. They will remind us of how we must forgive, but forget that we can also stand up confidently as Forgiven.

The people the media accuse of "hypocricry"--the long list of televangelists, or conservative Christians or politicians--might not be the best examples of redemption, but they are, at least, examples of the media's perspective.

Dumbledore will be their next victim. It doesn't matter what they think of homosexuality. They will not allow imperfection if someone is held up as a noble character by Christians. They will not allow a sin to be forgotten or forgiven. It doesn't really even matter that Rowling, his creator, is "outing him." He'll never be forgiven by the modern media, and we'll forever be reminded of his homosexuality, his noble deeds ever forgotten.

God help the non-fictional.

Food and Robots

Mark & I just returned from the SC State Fair. Having taken the kids Monday, we, like last year, came back again without them so we could look at the exhibits and eat the food. We had fried mushrooms, a turkey leg, a miniature hamburger, a fried Snickers bar on a stick, and homemade potato chips. There was a young man standing in the center of the food area, a Pepto Bismol rep, wearing a pink t-shirt and unapologetically handing out free samples. We took a few.

We saw a some shows too. The Chinese drummers were a lot of fun to watch. We saw a horse show that was so-so. But the best show of all was the machine wars set up in a plexi-glass cage at the back of one of the buildings.

There were these man-made robot-machines of motors, metal, and old tools (like rotary saws). They were remote controlled and would destroy things like lamps, printers, and concrete blocks--or set them on fire. There was one machine that had four 3-foot long spinning pieces of metal that looked innocent enough, until it rammed into a huge microwave with a stuffed blue gorilla on top of it. When it destroyed the microwave, the gorilla fell into the metal parts. Its body erupted and sent styrofoam stuffing everywhere. Gosh, it was great.

Dusan's slava is tomorrow. I'm going to be making the bread for the service on Sunday. I've seen some of the breads these Serbian ladies make, and they're beautiful. I hope I can pull it off. Hope told me that every Serbian lady stands in mortal dread that her Kolach will be gooey when the priest cuts it open at the slava service. I'm the same way with the Artos bread that we cut open on Thomas Sunday. Fortuately there are so few people there that day, that my several "internal" failures have gone unnoticed by most of our people.

Boss's Day

This morning Mark told me it is Boss's Day. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be Bosses' Day, or Bosses Day or Boss's Day. I think the last one is probably it, since presumably you only get a card for one boss on Boss's Day (singular possessive), as opposed to every executive over you (which would require a plural or a plural possessive--not to mention a few more cards).

Anyway, the Homily in the Prologue was fitting for the day. St Nikolai is writing about Psalm 2:11: "Serve the Lord with Fear and rejoice in Him with trembling":

The prophet of God speaks these words to earthly kings and judges, for they are inclined to pride and lasciviousness born out of the power and riches that are given to them. O you kings and judges--clods of dust beneath the feet of God--do not forget that you are only the servants of God, hirelings from today until tomorrow! Of what does a hireling think, digging in the field all day? About the pay that he will receive in the evening. Of what is the hireling proud? Not of his labor, but rather his pay. In what does the hireling rejoice? In his labor, his sweat, or his pay? Naturally, in his pay. O kings and judges, your service in the field of this life is the labor of a hireling. Therefore, with fear serve your Lord, who hired you: for you know not how your Lord will evaluate your labor in the end, or what pay He will render unto you.

Smallish Things

We have been offline for a number of days due to something wrong with an internal gadget in our PC that determines our IP address on both of our computers. We sent it to the Geek Squad and they did their magic, but it took a little longer than they expected.

Rose came home Thursday. Already she babysat twice, bless her heart. Twice, she has made supper and has dressed the kids for bed. If she were any less accomodating and agreeable, I would feel guilty. But I don't because she thinks it's fun. So she can have her fun and I'll get a break, for crying out loud.

She has told me some wonderful, exciting, and tremendously funny stories of her trip. One of her assignments for next week is to post her journal on her blog. I'll link to it once I make sure her spelling is appropriate for public consumption.

One story she told me tonight, which she probably wouldn't tell anyone because it makes her out to be a wonderful person, follows. They were at the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. Everyone knows the stoic demeanor of the guards, and how everyone wants to get their picture taken with one of them. My mother, sometimes guilty of socially awkward turns-of-phrase, said to Rose (within earshot of two of the guards), "Do you want to get your picture taken with the short, fat one or the cutey patooty?" (yes, she said that). Rose replied, "I'll get my picture taken with the cutey patooty." Then she calmly went and stood next to the guard my mother referred to as the "short, fat one" for her picture.

While Rose and the boys were gone I was able to take the girls bike-riding. We went to a park that had some small inclines, so I could teach them how to "stand on their pedals" to get the power they need to go up hills. After that plan failed, we went to the Riverwalk along the canal, which is ridiculously flat and physically unchallenging. But we saw about six great blue herons within feet of us, and the scenery and the weather were very pleasant.

We also painted Rose's room together, as well as the foyer, the hall, and the kitchen. We read Black Beauty and occasionally did schoolwork. It is this kind of season when we tend to skip school because the days are so pretty.

Last night the prosphora sisters went to Ruta's house to bake. Ruta made us a very nice dinner. Danielle & I both arrived with a double recipe of prosphora ready to be molded, so it didn't take long for five of us to finish the work. The baking took a while, of course. And we lost a batch of the small loaves because I kept turning the oven's heat up and down, fearing it wasn't heating properly. If I had been baking alone, I would have cussed. Then I would have felt guilty not only for burning the prosphora but for cussing about it too. But because it was shared, the frustration was lessened.

One Day Off

I am no good with math, especially in the morning. This is why I have a little spreadsheet I made into a laminated bookmark to tell me the Old Calendar day of the week. This way I can keep up with the readings from the Prologue of Ohrid each day. Since the New Calendar is 13 days ahead of the Old Calendar, the first 13 days of each NC month are the only ones that are different from one month to the next. For instance, if the previous month has 31 days, today's date is the 8th, and the OC date is the 26th. If the previous month has 30 days, it's the 25th, 29 days it's the 24th, 28 days, it's the 23rd.

If I miss a few days' readings, I have to use my spreadsheet to find my place again. That happened yesterday. I also messed up in the other crucial element in this computation: the little rhyme "Thirty days have September, April, June, and November..." I'm not sure what happened yesterday, but I accidentally read today's reading yesterday. I realized it in church when hymns were being sung to St Thecla, and not Sts Euphrosyne & Sergius of Radonezh. Since I love St Thecla, this morning I decided to go back and read yesterday's reading.

I'm glad I did, because in the Reflection of the day, St Nikolai, tells a wonderful story, which I don't remember ever having read before:

Once, on the Feast of the Annunciation, [St. Cosmas of Zographou] went with several other monks of the Monastery of Vatopedi for this, their main feast. During the church service, and during the meal in the refectory, Cosmas saw a woman of royal beauty and majesty, who authoritatively organized, directed, and even served. This was not a momentary vision, but continued for a long time, both in the church and in the refectory. Cosmas was perplexed and startled by this vision. It was not at all proper for a woman to be in a monastery of the Holy Mountain. When he related this vision to his brother monks at Zographou, all the while protesting the presence of women on the Holy Mountain, the astonished monks explained to him that she was the Queen of the Holy Mountain, the Most-holy Theotokos. then the perplexed heart of Cosmas was filled with great joy.

The theme of St Nikolai's reflection is that "Every saint is close to the place where he is invoked for help, or where his sanctity is commemorated and glorified."

About a Fish

When I was a freshman at USC I spent a very brief time in a sorority. It wasn't for me so I quit. There were two girls, Helen & Kathy, who still liked me despite my leaving.

Kathy once asked me to watch her fish because she was going abroad for a few weeks. She explained it wasn't difficult. I explained that I had a history of accidentally killing small pets: innumerable gerbils, hamsters, and fish. She told me not to worry, I just needed to make sure the temperature read some degree, and that the fish was fed twice a day, I think. The water heater was already set to the degree it was supposed to be at, and a pinch of food in the morning would take care of it till evening.

Well, the fish died. It appeared that the poor creature was cooked. Not only that, I cracked the aquarium as I was trying to clean it out postmortem. I think the most awkward moment of my life was handing her an empty, cracked, aquarium with the plastic plants, pink rocks, and heating device neatly wrapped up inside.

Although Mark always tells me it's irrational, I'm often bothered by the seeminly inconsequential things I remember. I think I remember the stupid and the awkward events of my life because I have a lingering fear that someone else has too.

So it was with no particular surprise that my dear friend, Susan, of twenty plus years, bluntly informed me, "You know, we never thought Rose was going to live this long...You remember all those hamsters that died? One after the other, after the other...and remember Kathy's fish?"

Eau d'Thai

During Theophany this year, Svetlana gave me some perfume in a small decorative glass bottle. A couple weeks later my parents came back from the Holy Land and gave me some perfume in a small decorative glass bottle. Svetlana's perfume was yellowish; my mother's was greenish. Both, I hear, smelled nice.

I, however, couldn't smell a thing. I suffer (hyperbole only) from anosmia--which is a complete or almost-complete loss of the sense of smell. I can smell some things, like Ella's skin lotion and occasionally a small flash of cooking meat, but for the most part I can't smell anything. For example, I rely on the kids to tell me that Little Mark has a dirty diaper. Fr Mark & Rose usually won't tell me because they think I'll insist they change it. Cilantro is one of the most obvious things I can neither taste nor smell.

Anyway, tonight I paid the price of my disability.

When I put Max down to nap this afternoon I decided I would put up my makeup box since Little Mark has gotten into it no less than three times in the past six days. He usually takes the opportunity of his nap to sneak into my room (where Max naps) and to play. As I placed my box out of reach on Fr Mark's dresser, it occurred to me that all it would take is a small tug from one of the boys to pull the entire contents of his dresser (sitting on a decorative cloth) down to the floor. We put the two bottles on his dresser in an attempt to keep them out of reach.

I decided that since I never wear perfume I would finally just dump the contents of the two bottles down the toilet. That being done I decided to take the two bottles to the kitchen trashcan, since any drop in our bedroom trashcans would smell up the room for weeks. As I walked down, the ever curious pack rat, Ella, asked what I was doing with those two beautiful bottles. I explained and she convinced me that if I just put them into the dishwasher, they would be washed and she and Margaret would simply put them on a high shelf, never to be bothered by the boys. I gave in.

So tonight I made shrimp pad Thai for the family. I went into the dishwasher to use the strainer we had used for our lunch's noodle dish. Since I can't smell, it wasn't until the meal was served, that I found out that all the complex aromas of peanuts, carrots, cauliflower, sugar snap peas, mung bean sprouts, cilantro, lime juice, and the accompanying spices really just smelled like a French brothel--with shrimp.

I finished my meal because I didn't taste it. Everyone else said it tasted bad--but 2/3 of them would have said it was nasty whether they were eating Eau d'Thai or anything other than PBJ. Welcome to my life.

Beautiful Days

This morning I let the children play in the front yard after Papa left for work. They lined up to kiss him goodbye, and after waving from the front porch, the circus began. At least it did for Ella, Max, and LMark as they flipped, cartwheeled, and spun around all over our hill.

For Margaret, something else was going on. Her arms, in a unmistakably Julie Andrewsesque pose, floated behind her as she ran from one side of the yard to the other, leaping and singing. Her melody was more like something from an Ethiopian Orthodox Choir than a Julie Andrews film, but the words were utterly inspired. "The wind is flowing through my beeyootiful hair as I run through the grass <<get out of my way Max!!>> and the life is beeyootiful and the bushes and when I go up to the sun it's hotter than the earth..." and on and on like that for about 20 minutes.

We came home today from Girl Scouts/Boys Club to find that the concrete men were already digging out the 20'x25' area in which we plan to install the new patio. Mark & I discussed it's placement a couple weeks ago, and we both decided it should be moved out of the middle of the yard, the location of the original compromise, and into the back corner of the yard next to the swing set. There is no place in our yard that doesn't slope, so the men had to dig out a sizable chunk of earth to make it level. But I can imagine landscaping around it with a retaining wall or something else to make it look nice.

Right now we have a nice hill of sand for the children. The difficulty of this (and the gorgeous weather which allows more outside-time) is that they come into the house covered in sand and dust from head to toe. Which means they're thirsty, and they want water or tea, which they spill or slosh, and step in, and on and on, till I might as well not have mopped the floor two days ago, because it looks worse than it did before.

I got a call from Rose today. She described where she's been with a precise enunciation of her consonants. Either this is a result of being around my aunt for several days, or she's picked up a love of the English accent. She told me where she's visited, what she's seen, and how she loves blood sausage and tea with two lumps of brown sugar and clotted cream. She wants to go to Oxford now. She plans to post her journal on a blog she created a few weeks ago. I told her I wasn't going to link to it from my page until her spelling improves.

I went to Nell's house last night for our Church sisterhood meeting. She served pineapple upside down cake, fruit, blueberry muffins, and a chocolate peanut butter pie. The food, the table, and the company was enjoyable, and a nice break from the kids.

Out of Reach

It hasn't taken me long to realize how much I miss having Rose around. She's a rational and reasonable companion in a house of sometimes-petulant and dramatic children, not to mention a great help around the house. The prospect of 16 more days without her is making my head hurt.

When people ask how I'm going to handle her absence, my self-defensive instinct wants to say, "I suppose I'll have to put down my box of bon-bons, turn off my stories, and pick up a broom." But I usually pay for thinking such thoughts. Payback has already happened more than once, most notably, the incident which produced this angelic photo.

Liturgy was nice today. Dusan is supposed to be back this Sunday after a month's absence due to a sprained ankle. I know I'm not the only person who misses having him in church.

Eve of the Exaltation

I'm still reading Brothers Karamozov. It's one of the most difficult works of fiction I've ever read. The first time I attempted it I was a know-it-all college kid, but I couldn't get through it, and the Orthodox references went way over my head. The second time I tried it Rose was a baby. When I got to the chapter entitled, "Rebellion." I couldn't continue. It was heart breaking. The third time, I got through that chapter but got bogged down in the next chapter called, "The Grand Inquisitor," and realized I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.

Now I'm further into the book than I've ever been. The chapter on Fr Zossima is painfully beautiful. I wanted to record something here:

It's the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy. The mild serenity of age takes the place of the riotous blood of youth. I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before, my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays and the soft tender gentle memories that come with them, the dear images from the whole of my long happy life--and over all the Divine Truth, softening, reconciling, forgiving! My life is ending, I know that well, but every day that is left for me I feel how my earthly life is in touch with a new infinite, unknown, but approaching life, the nearness of which sets my soul quivering with rapture, my mind glowing and my heart weeping with joy.

The Grand Tour

I just dropped off Rose at my parents' house to leave for her trip to England, Wales, and Ireland tomorrow. She'll be leaving from Charlotte and flying to Orlando, and then to London. They'll be touring London for several days and then taking a tour of the Southeast and circling around for a tour of the West Country. They'll be visiting cousins of my dad's side of the family in Wales and then fly to Dublin. They'll be in Ireland for about three or four days and then fly back to London. God willing they'll be back on the 11th.

Poor Margaret was inconsolable as Rose and I were trying to leave. I don't think she's cried like that since early this morning. So if Rose needed proof of Margaret's genuine despair and desolation at having to say goodbye, she got it.

My goal is to get Rose's lime green room painted before she gets back. The original paint job was done when Margaret was a baby, so I had a lot more time than I do now. Rose liked the color of her room for almost six months, and has been politely talking of getting it re-painted for the past five years.

For Rose's birthday she was given new, more grown-up, furniture, and a lovely maroon and gold brocaded bedspread with shams, throw pillows and a bolster. The lime green doesn't work anymore, needless to say.

I insisted that before we let Rose leave, we all go outside after supper to play as a family for a little while. We got the 3' beach ball out and played a very liberal game of soccer with no goals, no points, and no rules. The kids did want to break up into teams, however. Mark, Rose, Ella, and LMark were the "Mexicans" (so named by Ella) because of their darker complexions and hair. Max, Margaret and I were the "Angles" because of our lighter hair and complexions. Midway into the game Margaret cried out "I want to be a Mexican!!" at which point they welcomed her with open arms. Max and I were out-numbered so we just out-manoeuvred them with our quick wit and light complexions. Since there were no rules or points, they could each run around, fall down, tackle, and holler at each other for twenty minutes and walk away thinking they had won the game. It was fun.

Pix & Patios

Today began with a discussion between me and Mark about the size of a patio we're putting in the back yard. He wants a 23' x 26' patio so we can have a place to play half-court basketball. I want a more moderately-sized, 20' x 23', patio so we don't have huge slab of concrete in the middle of our back yard, but enough room for for the kids to play. So we decided to compromise and get a 23' x 26' patio so we can have a place to play half-court basketball.

We had an appointment to get the kids' pictures taken for our homeschool yearbook at 10 this morning. This is one of my favorite parts of our being in our homsechool group. Since it's home-school we can include a lot of pictures of our family doing fun-looking things. It doesn't matter that someone might have pitched a fit 5 minutes before or 5 minutes after the photo--what matters is the publicised moment of family joy and peace which is immortalized in our yearbook.

Even though we could have stayed and had a group photo made at the studio, I wanted to save a few hundred dollars and go to WalMart instead. Fortunately when we arrived we weren't behind a group of five irritable and hungry kids who took forever to coordinate their smiles, because we would have been waiting forever. Unfortunately we were the group with five irritable and hungry kids who took no less than 90 minutes to coordinate their heads, blinks and smiles, and then pose for their individual shots. There were two ladies with a toddler who arrived five minutes after us who had to wait just to pick up thier pictures. I kept saying to the photographer, "Go ahead and take care of them, it doesn't matter--no really--it's OK." But she refused. It was almost as if she had some vendetta against them.

The first ten shots I told the kids to yell "Cheese!" When they got bored with that it was "Milk Shake!" Then I tried to come up with words that would be a reward for their smiles. What we learned: the words "gum" and "chocolate" do not produce attractive smiles for a family portrait. Then I left the area and let the photographer do her work with the croaky frog. The kids were exhausted. The last photo we took, which was the one where I just said, "Alright this is the last one! Y'all just hug!!" produced the best picture of all. This is the one we got in the large size.

Go figure.

Brain Buckets

It was a beautiful day today. The sun was shining and there was a genuine chill in the air. Before church this morning I went to CVS and bought a box of bandaids because LMark had cut his finger with a butter knife (while trying to cut a mini-wheat in half). After naps, I took the kids to the grade school to ride bikes. Fortunately I had left the bandaids in the car, because by the time we left the parking lot, we had used eight of them.

Ella had a minor spill that scratched her knee and hands. Max did something to his knee. But Margaret & Ella had a collision that ended our day. I didn't see it, but they ended up in a heap together with Ella rubbing her knee and Margaret holding a knot on the back of her head the size of a golf ball. I carried her to the car and packed up the rest of the crew.

When we got home I put an ice pack on her head and leaned her up against Papa on the couch. The rest of the children, upon seeing the treatment Meggy was getting, presented all of their own injuries, limped around, and groaned like pathetic invalids.

I didn't think that the girls actually needed head gear at this point in their bicycling because they were, at times, ridiculously cautious and slow. Today they were zipping all around the parking lot at lightning speed. Before the accident I mumbled to myself that I should have brought their helmets. So from now on they won't go riding without one. My friend Stephen calls them brain buckets, which is an appropriate name, no doubt.

Initially they'll object that it restricts their freedom. But I suppose they'll soon treat them like seat belts. Max, if he discovers we've begun driving without buckling him in, will scream in terror, "I'm not buckled yet !! I'm gonna fwy out of de cawr!!"

Playing in the Gutter

Last night we had an unusual storm here. There was a downpour of Southern proportions, but not a bit of lightning or thunder. Because this was such an unusual thing I took the Meggy, Max, & Little Mark onto the front porch to watch it. We rarely get the opportunity to appreciate a good rain outside because of the lightning. Once Ella & I walked onto our porch for just a second to move something and were zapped when lightning struck something across the street and charged the air. It made me very careful of exposing myself or the children to thunderstorms.

It was different last night. It rained steadily for 20 minutes and we watched it from the porch. Then Mark & I took the kids down to the gutter in front of our house where water was pouring like crazy from up the hill. We had a good time putting bark and flowers into the water and watching them disappear down the storm drain.

When I was a kid we played in the gutter all the time because we lived at the bottom of a hill. We also made necklaces of clover and popped bubbles made in the tar on the road. That was fun.

Simple pleasures.

When Should a Man Obey His Wife?

The simple answer to "When should a man obey his wife?" is the following: when she says, "Whatever you do, I don't care about the circumstances, never put a crayon in your pocket." Also he might pay added attention if she includes the phrase, "Never, never, never put a crayon in your pocket, ever, ever, ever."

But the Good Lord didn't intend that a man obey his wife. Which is why crayons end up in the man's pocket, and then into the laundry, and then into the dryer, which then, in varying degrees, bespeckle all the clothes, and completely turn the interior of the dryer a Crayola brown and "mountain green."

This has happened to me several times before, and I haven't been able to trace the culprit as easily as I can now. This doesn't matter because I can already hear, not only from the man, but from every corner of the blessed earth: "You should have checked the pockets."

Yes, I know, thank you very much.

Boy Math

We had our annual parish meeting today. It went pretty well. It's funny how the nine children (ages 7 and under), when they have the freedom to go in and out of the church, prefer to be out, and will, 98% of the time, stay out. But when they have been told they must stay outside with Rose, they stand and stare through the door like forlorn puppies.

After church I took the middle three to the high school parking lot to ride bikes again. Max, who used to be gung ho about his bike, is now uninterested because we took his training wheels off. So he spent the time in the parking lot running back and forth on the sidewalks. Meggy would scream at him if he got too close, "Max! You're nervousing me!!" About 100 feet away from where I sat in the car, Max plopped himself in front of a styrofoam cup with a lid and a straw that had been deposited in the parking lot. I was watching him, but wasn't terribly concerned about his doing the unthinkable. But, being 1000% rough and tumble boy, he did it. He took a drink.

High school parking lot + cup + weekend = I don't want to even imagine what was in there. And I will leave it at that.

We went home for a few minutes to get some iced tea. Instead of returning to the high school we went to the new elementary school just 30 seconds from our house. The parking lot is newly paved and the medians are sandy and unmanicured right now. The girls loved the smooth ride and rode around for an hour. I enjoyed myself, although it was hot, there was a nice breeze and it was fun watching the kids play. Needing to be reminded that we are in a fallen world however, there was an irksome housefly (at least it looked like one) that wanted to land on my legs. It wouldn't have been terribly pesky, except that it bit me everytime it landed.

Max wandered off and discovered a fire hydrant which he sat beside and stroked as if it were a golden idol. When I called him back near the car he decided to play in the sand. Then he began burying his legs and feet in the hot, dusty parking lot sand. He did this for nearly 30 minutes.

Margaret, who had dropped by the car to get a drink of tea told me what he was doing. "He is making ant hills on his legs," she announced, "I told him 'Good job, Max! They look just like 'em."

We're headed for Charleston tomorrow for a field trip to the Old Exchange and Charles Towne Landing--then to the beach for probably our last swim of the season.

In the Balance

I made prosphora today. I still don't like doing it. Having started at 7AM, I thought that I might actually have them all cut by lunchtime and be done baking by 3:00. So I didn't finish till an hour and a half ago. Not a big deal. It indeed would have been something to finish earlier with all the kids around and Mark home too. But I made a triple recipe to get us through October, litya to get us to the end of the year, and commemorative loaves for a few weeks at least.

Carolina is playing Georgia and has a significant lead right now. By the time I finish this post, however, they might have lost. They don't have a very good track record of keeping the leads they get in the first half--especially when they're playing a team like Georgia.

I re-covered Quartus' four-legged stool that he sits on in the choir at church. The seat was splattered with paint. It wasn't that bad because it was hidden behind the choir stand, but I decided I would re-cover it anyway. I hope he doesn't mind; the paint didn't come off with Oops. I probably should have used brush cleaner, but it was easier to re-cover it.

I took Rose and the kids to Target today (left LMark at home with Papa to nap). Rose had to get a present for Carley's birthday party tonight. I had a irrepressible urge to visit the shoe department. In my youth shoes weren't that big of a draw for me, but they are now.

In order to allow Mark more quiet time without the kids, I decided to take them to the high school parking lot to ride bikes. Margaret is the best bike-rider right now, but she had a pretty bad spill today and scraped up her elbow. But it is entirely characteristic of Margaret to recover pretty quickly if having fun hangs in the balance.

Mark is at Nell & Josh's house watching the game with some other friends, and our visiting Siberian friend, Polina. She's passing through town on her way from Siberia to Oregon for school. I hope we can find someone to marry her who lives here. I have always liked her very much.

I'm hesitant to sign-off of this post because Carolina is still winning--but they've lost their big lead. It's only a four point lead now, and 1:27 minutes left. Plenty of time for Carolina to lose. I'm sure if they do lose I'll hear about how I jinxed the game because of my bad attitude.

...

...what do you know...we won. How about that? Woohoo!

Not so Quiet

This afternoon I went to WalMart to exchange a printer cartridge that was the wrong model. Within minutes of returning I found the house strangely quiet. Rose was loading the dishwasher and the children were still in bed for their "quiet time" which should have ended an hour ago. I felt like something was up, since Rose had changed into her father's ugliest t-shirt, and in reply to my request for the status of the house she replied dully, "Everything's fine."

Everything was not fine, as I found out when I walked upstairs and into my room. Max tattled on Little Mark, saying he had eaten "all da medicine." When I ran over to check out LMark, I found him standing on the vanity counter painting the mirror and himself with Dr. Burt's Rescue Ointment. Any other time I would have gotten angry, but I was already anxious about the "medicine" so the vanity had to wait for later. When I asked Max to explain what happened, he revised his story. Little Mark had eaten two pills, but Max had eaten one. I got on the phone with the pediatrician knowing full well that it was Max who had eaten all the pills. After explaining the situation to the pediatrician, then to Poison Control, and finding out that three times 160 mg of acetaminophin is not toxic to a boy Max (or LMark's) size I got the real score: Max-3, Little Mark-0. Thank God.

Little Mark, fortunately, was merely covered in a healthy, fragrant analgesic, which is why I had to put him in the tub. Upon walking into the bathroom I discovered that Ella had written on the cabinet in toothpaste the phrase "I hate Mom." I was bewildered because I couldn't remember having done anything particularly hateful earlier. When I was a kid I would say "I hate you" to my mom all the time and could effortlessly reduce her to tears. This is probably why I said it all the time--and why I deserve having it said to me.

There is a latant instinct in me to sit Ella down and have a heart-to-heart, but frankly, I'm out of patience with that modern nonsense. I made her clean up the mess, and then the whole bathroom. She didn't seem to have a problem with it since it appears her sentiments have changed. This, however, doesn't change the fact that I'm going to have to buy more toothpaste before the end of the week, and find time before Mark gets home from work to clean off my mirror.