Lift Up Your Hearts!

Faith, at two and a half, is amazingly maternal.  She loves tending her new sister, or her "purple baby doll" if Joy is not available.  She's good at it too, and gentle.

And then again.... She was pretending to be, herself, Grandma's "sweet little baby."  Then she picked up a plastic toy, rapped it repeatedly against my knuckles, and cooed, "You' sweet little baby ... cut you' fingers off!"  I'm not sure where that came from, but I think it's related to the When Boys Have a Tea Party syndrome.

Overheard this morning:  Jonathan (7) and Noah (4) were making breakfast.  I wish I'd had a hidden video camera; the whole show would have had a chance to go viral on YouTube.  As it was I only caught bits and snatches as I went about my own affairs.

Jonathan: I'll make the eggs,  because if someone else makes them they’ll put in something I don’t like, like green peppers.

Noah:  I’ll help!

Jonathan:  You get out all the eggs—not the ones with the writing on them.  [The hard-boiled eggs are marked with an H.]

Noah:  Bud, we need Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Do we have rye bread?

Jonathan:  You need a towel, because the eggs don’t stay still if you put them [directly] on the counter.

Noah:  Huh?

Grandma:  He doesn’t want to make egg rolls.  [A reference to Noah’s favorite joke, which he says he made up himself:  How do you make egg rolls?  You take an egg and roll it.]

<SPLAT>

Jonathan:  I’ve got it mostly under control.  Don’t anybody step there.

Jonathan:  One, two three, four, five, six, seven.  That’s good.

Noah:  I’m not putting this in.

Jonathan:  But it’s onion!

Noah: Yes, but I’m not putting it in because it doesn’t have one of those [a shaker lid].

Jonathan:  Mom might be able to guess that I used nutmeg, but she’ll never guess we used paprika.  Paprika looks like red pepper but it’s mild as a pild.  [Jonathan’s latest verbal venture is frequent use of “(adjective) as a (rhyming nonsense word).”]

Jonathan:  Bud, that was 'way too much Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Okay, but I know we love Tuscan Sunset.

Jonathan:  [putting away the minced onion]  M … mace …. [This for my friend who also keeps her spices in alphabetical order.]

[Noah’s interest wanes and he gets distracted by other things; Jonathan carries on.  Jonathan does not require a second person for conversation.]

Why did someone put this big pan on top of our best frying pan?

[Pours scrambled eggs into the pan.]

Oil!  Oil!  Oil!

[Pours scrambled eggs back into the bowl.]

[Pulls big jar of oil from cupboard.  Puts it back.]

Canola oil isn’t the only kind you can use.

[Gets olive oil mister from the cupboard.]

This makes it easier not to pour too much oil.

[Sprays oil, returns eggs to the pan, turns on the stove, and commences stirring.  Later, a call comes from the kitchen.]

Can someone help me stir?  My arm is tired!

The eggs were almost done, and soon we sat down to a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, accompanied by recitations from Green Eggs and Ham.

Thank you, thank you, Jonathan and Noah!

In Bad Science, author Ben Goldacre delivers the following paean as part of a discussion of drug side effects.

I really enjoy the sensation of orgasm.  It's important to me, and everything I experience in the world tells me that this sensation is important to other people too.  Wars have been fought, essentially, for the sensation of orgasm.  There are eveolutionary psychologists who would try to persuade you that the entirety of human culture and language is driven, in large part, by the pursuit of the sensation of orgasm.

Far be it from me to deny the pleasure to which he refers, but the man has obviously never felt the sensation of holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

Joy is one week old today.  She is a remarkably good-natured child, or, as her Uncle Stephan would say, "chill."  She naturally sleeps for two hours at a stretch, and only fusses slightly when hungry.  Yet when she is awake she is alert, bright-eyed, and looking all around, and she eats with great (and noisy) enthusiasm.  Joy puts up cheerfully with being handed around from one person to another, whether in the gentle, even timid, arms of an adult, or the more enthusiastic attentions of her siblings.

Nighttime, naturally, is not quite so perfect.  That's when she's most likely to fuss, and to produce a large quantity of messy diapers.  But the other day Heather awoke beaming and refreshed—and you know you're a new mother when you can be so enthusiastic over having gotten 10 hours of sleep in five two-hour segments. (More)

Overheard during the flurry to get everyone out the door in time for church:  "Jonathan, now is not the best time to tell us all about grain elevators."

When the human/bathroom ratio exceeds 6:1, procrastination is a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

Life is different for a newborn in a large family.  I feel rather ridiculous applying the label "large" to a family of five, but even three siblings is sufficient to give a baby quite a different experience from most American babies.  The first- and even second-born can easily become the focus of a great deal of parental attention and anxiety—which can be both a blessing and a curse. The third child, however, breaches the one-to-one parent/child ratio.  Many parents of one or two children choose to encourage their kids to be competent and independent at an early age, but once a third child enters the family, that's no longer a choice, but a necessity.

There's a lively discussion currently going on at Free-Range Kids about children who have too much done for them, and I was struck by the following comment: (More)

Joy is three days old, and all is well.  She seems to have a regular fussy period between midnight and three, but other than that has been treating her parents well.  She sleeps well, despite the frequent checking, patting, and noisy chaos that comes with having three loving, young siblings.  She eats well, drinking in great, noisy gulps.  Mom is handling the engorgment stage as well as can be expected without having a nursing toddler to help out.  Grandma is happy to be done with meconium diapers.

It is a busy household.  Life with three active children doesn't stop just because a fourth had been added.  Chores must be done.  Maybe we could manage if Noah didn't wipe the table for a day or so (though life would soon get rather sticky), or if Jonathan didn't vacuum the living room floor, but if they neglected their daily task of bringing in wood we'd soon be very cold. (More)

Joy Ellen Daley
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
8 lbs. 1 oz., 19 3/4 in. 

  (click to enlarge)

There are many joys and privileges in life, and I count being present at a grandchild’s birth one of the highest.  But if I’d blinked, I’d have missed this one. (More)

It's not generally considered the best treatment for a cold and severe laryngitis to play in the snow, but the sky was so blue and the sun so inviting and the snow so perfectly white and perfect for making snowballs and snow men that when the rest of the family went out to enjoy it I couldn't resist accompanying them.  I had planned merely to watch, but as I said, the snow was perfect.

At least I never had a chance to get cold; the grandsons saw to that.  We made a lovely snowman with a carrot nose, and then engaged in a wild battle.  I don't know what the effort did for my cold, but the experience was exhilarating.  We Florida girls don't get much opportunity for that kind of fun.

And my voice is no worse, not that it can get much further gone than completely.  I'm learning a lot about how much I chatter when given the opportunity.  :(

Faith's two older brothers are off helping Daddy work on the car, so she had luxury of playing with Dad-o's gift all by herself.  The three wine corks will no doubt eventually become part of some craft project, but for now they are building blocks.  She carefully set down her baby doll—lovingly wrapped in a warm purple blanket—and made a tower, standing the corks all on end (no problems with this two-year-old's coordination).  Then she piled them like a woodpile (her family heats with wood), then stood them side by side to make a fence.  Next she laid them down, like sleeping people.  Then end-to-end to make a snake.  Finally, she arranged the corks in an L-shape.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Dat mine dun (gun).  Mine OWN dun!"

What shopping at your standard grocery store, with its standardized food, won't tell you:

The fruit on the left is a lemon, and on the right is a grapefruit.  All natural, from local (Central Florida) trees, healthy (as well as healthful), and absolutely delicious!

I should have put something recognizable in the picture for sizing; the grapefruit is about the size of a baseball.

Ya gotta love our church.  I've changed the names rather than seek permission to publish, but the story is true.  From our church bulletin:

LENTEN QUIET DAY IN MARCH led by Pastor Dale at her farm on Saturday, March 12^th ... offers two meditations on Elijah's desert journey and meeting God in the quiet - 1 Kings 19 & one on the Lord's Prayer - Matthew 6.  A simple lunch will be provided, plus music, prayers, a walking meditation in the pasture (wear comfortable walking shoes), and a closing Eucharist.

GUNS @ DALE'S:  SHOOTING SKEET & KILLING CANS  The spring time shootout is Saturday, March 12. ... For Guys & Gals.  Bring your friends, kids, & grandkids.  If you've got a gun, bring it.  If you don't have a gun, there will be several to use (WITH instruction and supervision)....  LIMITED TO THE 1^ST 25 FOR SAFETY'S SAKE.

Contrary to appearances, these two popular events, though on the same day, are not on the same property.  "Dale" does not refer to the same person in both cases.  But the juxtaposition does capture quite nicely the diversity represented in our church.

This week an Orlando man was arrested for smuggling cockroaches into Florida.  What was he thinking?

Apparently, bugs are a big business, and officers said he had them illegally shipped into Orlando from California....Local reptile experts said the roaches are a good food source for lizards. They have more meat and more nutrients than crickets. They're also quieter and easier to handle, and once you have some good breeding roaches, you won't have to buy more.

Right.  That's why we encourage lizards here, and don't even mind when they come indoors.  But breeding roaches?  On purpose?  <shudder>.

Florida has been hit by unusually cold weather lately, it is true.  But many here who complain were not around in mid-1980's, which produced the bitter cold winters which, along with developers greedy for new land, destroyed the Central Florida citrus industry.

That was not all that icy weather and poor human judgement destroyed in those years.

Twenty-five years ago today, we were eager to share with visiting friends one of the blessings of living here:  the view, from our front yard, of a space shuttle launch.

Discovery, March 8, 2001

Due to the cold morning temperatures, however, when Challenger lifted off we elected to keep our small children (and ourselves) indoors, for the view was nearly as good from our large front window.  But this time, the sight was different.  We took no pictures, but thanks to YouTube you can share the experience, albeit from a different angle,

Did I say you could share the experience?  You can see it, but you can't share it.  That those who weren't here could not understand was made obvious in the ensuing days as jokes and unfeeling comments came forth from other parts of the country.  The loss of Challenger and her crew left a mark on Central Floridians similar to that left on the rest of the country twenty years earlier by the assassination of President Kennedy, and twenty years later by the destruction of the Twin Towers.

We still remember.

In his response to the disaster, President Ronald Reagan quoted from this poem by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.  It, too, has stayed with me these 25 years.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.