Sunday Morning

Sunday mornings can be chaos around here. Loading into the van to travel to worship is the resolution of a complex and shifting algorithm, which incorporates a wide range of factors. Factors like cleanliness of "church clothes" and the wrinkliness thereof; how much sleep everyone got the night before; relative priority placed on the brushing of teeth; and how quickly a three-year-old will eat a doughnut.

Now that we are sojourners away from our home church, the uncontrollable factors continue after loading into the van. Before today, we had not been repeat visitors at any church here since we landed six weeks ago. One Sunday morning we got so lost on our way that we spent an hour and a half in the car without making it to a worship service at all (the next Sunday we knew how to get there, though! We'd had lots of practice).

Anyway, this morning we went back to the same church we visited last week, which reduced the chaos in finding a location and knowing how to transition into worship (this morning I knew exactly where to find the crayons).  This church is the one nearest our house, which makes us happy in a "parish" sense of neighbors knowing one another and worshipping together. Indeed, many of the surnames of the people we've met at the church match the names in the church graveyard. The new pastor is about to move into the parsonage across the street.

I had been hoping to worship at an Anglican or Episcopal church during this year away--among other reasons, I find the prayers and services of the Book of Common Prayer intensely beautiful. For various reasons, that is not going to work out. Neither is the pre-Revolutionary stone church with stained-glass windows that I envisioned.

Instead, though, we have two minutes away a Dutch Reformed church--a different kind of liturgy, and a different kind of beautiful, and with different European roots. There is a gallery upstairs. There are pews with doors and numbers on them. There is an organ that is played with skill and grace, communicating majesty as perhaps only an organ can. Yesterday after the service the organist invited Bud and Wombles upstairs for a tour, and later I heard "Jesu, Joy of Men's Desiring" as Bud played the melody and the organist accompanied him.

While most of the congregation is elderly, there has been a warm and enthusiastic welcome of us and our children. I had a flashback to Greece and the wood shop after I saw Wombles up in the gallery above and started vehemently directing him to Come down!  because that was not where he was supposed to be! --because immediately a woman cut in on me to sweetly but directly inform me that the organist had invited the two boys up there and had opened up the organ (I don't even know what that means) and was giving them a tour. With a smile that said clearly, "So you just let them stay up there."OK. Message received. I am a control freak.

The building was finished in 1832, after local congregants wanted to stop driving the 3-4 miles to the nearest Dutch Reformed Church. So really, this is a very old church plant. And I deeply appreciate the desire to go to church in one's own neighborhood. Having to wrangle the six of us out of bed, through breakfast and into the van can be complicated enough on Sunday mornings without adding the potential mishaps and delays of travel. There's no algorithm that can accurately predict just how long the whole process will take. I guess that was as true in the 1820s as it is today.

I am grateful to have found a place to worship for the next three seasons, and grateful for those who have been praying for us. I miss our church at home. And I look forward to seeing how God will bless us and hopefully use us to bless others during this season on the road.

Eek! Snow!

The sermon text Sunday was Matthew 21:33-46. As the pastor was reading it on Sunday, he paused just long enough at "go to..." that my mind immediately filled in a line from a song we sing at CPC. I had it running in my head for the entire service, contributing to a strange, two-places-at-once feeling that was both homesick and at-home at once. You can listen to the song here, much like it sounds back home in Santa Barbara:

Questions I Was Asked Today

In no particular order, here are ten of the questions I was asked today...these being the questions asked when I was near enough my notebook to write them down.

• How many dwarf planets are there?
• What is for breakfast?
• Do you know where the four-square ball is?
• Can we watch Phineas and Ferb?
• Did you really get married?
• Can we do chalk art on the driveway? (repeat: seven times. or so.)
• Do you know who my favorite quarterback is?
• How long does it take a probe to reach Mars from Earth?
• Do you want to see my sleeping impressions? 
• What would happen if all of the earth's inhabitants turned into heavyweight boxing champions?

(I did a better job of answering some of these than others.)

And when they are not asking questions, they are doing this:

We've been here six weeks today. Happy fall!

PS In case you are interested in my answers to the above questions, here they are--sometimes with the immediate response of the child:

1. Four? Nope! Three.
2. Bagels with cream cheese. Mmmm, so yummy!
3. No. Yes. Either in the ball box where it is supposed to be, or the garage.
4. No. 
1. No.
2. No. 
3. Not now. 
4. Yes, if you put away Clue and put your pajamas on.  
5. Yes. And then I was born!!! (Well, yes, 12 years later.)
6. No. 
1. Still no.
2. Not now. 
3. Look, I have to move the van to block the driveway before you can do that, and there are people coming over to drop off their dog for us to dog-sit and I can't block them out of the driveway, so no.
4. Later.
5. Probably after quiet time.
6. OK, yes.
7. Yes! Peyton Manning. No, it's DADDY! Peyton Manning is my SECOND FAVORITE!
8. I have no idea. A few years? I'll have to look it up.
9. Yes. Oh, please, yes.
10. No words. No answer.

A Tale of Two Birthdays

Wombles is Seven!

Last year, we were juggling a teaching day with our desire to celebrate his sixth birthday. While I taught a class, J hoofed around Rome (having finished his teaching for the day) looking for a toy store. For birthday presents. On the actual birthday. (Amazon Prime, how I missed you). When J got home, we went about fulfilling Wombles' birthday wishes. In Covington style, they revolved around food and fun.

Poor Wombles--or Lucky Wombles? Two years in a row, he gets to celebrate his birthday far from home. He's the only one of us (besides yours truly) to get to do that. And since we are already spending much of this fall thinking and saying, "This time last year..," I thought I'd play a little comparison game.* Poor Wombles or Lucky? You decide!


Last year's breakfast: No idea. Can't remember anything. Probably something sweet from the store?
This year's breakfast: The traditional made-from-scratch strawberries and shortcake... with bacon.

Last year's lunch: McDonald's across from Termini. Happy Meal. The boy just wanted some American food.
This year's lunch: Stacked pancakes (homemade, straight out of Farmer Boy) with little smokies (technically Lit'l Smokies). In a nutritional contest, I think this one's a draw.

Last year's activity: Going to the Colosseum.

This year's activity: Going to Terhune Orchards. Think cider, a corn maze, and lots of running around outside. And apple cider donuts...and apple pie...culturally on the other end of the spectrum from the uber-urban colosseum, except for each being so very representative of the local ethos.

Last year's supper: Oh, my word. An odyssey. You would think that we would be able to get sausage pizza in Rome, of all places...but no. J walked to six different pizzerias at the end of a long day, hoping to fulfill W's wish--all to no avail. Other kinds of pizza, yes...but no sausage pizza.

2013, the year of the lone pink candle

This year's supper:  Wombles, in an unusal spark of optimism (or perhaps a characteristic display of pertinacity) has asked for sausage pizza for his birthday supper AGAIN. Maybe we'll get it right this time.  New World Pizza, I'm looking at you.


Last year's cake: That chocolatey thing I bought from the bakery down the street. With the one pink candle and the Italian word I didn't understand on top.
This year's cake: by request Funfetti with green frosting and a car race on the top. Cars provided by Hot Wheels.

This year's wrapping paper: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The irony is not lost on me that this time last year he was also looking at [the works of] Michaelangelo, Donatello and Leonardo. High Culture! Low Culture! Hooray!
Last Year's wrapping paper: Checked plastic picnic tablecloths from the home store across the street from our apartment. I kid you not, it was the absolute best I could do. see photo.

Last Year's Mama: Stranger-in-a-strange-land, crazy, and crazy-for-Wombles. And wearing this blue shirt.
This year's Mama: Ditto. Down to the shirt. I found this photo as I was going through looking for cake pictures, and every single thing about it is unnerving.

At least one thing is same-old, same old!

Overall I would say there's more equilibrium (and presents!) this year, and last year had a more exotic flavor including the pizza. At least, I would be tempted to think of it as more exotic, if I weren't increasingly convinced of the adventure of the ordinary and the uniqueness of each day. But here we are on the East coast, in perhaps the most garden-like part of the Garden State. We get to experience different seasons (both of the year and of life). And we get to celebrate another year with Wombles. God has been good to us this year, indeed.

I can't believe my sweet boy is SEVEN! Happy Birthday, Wombles--and happy adventuring!




*Also, the battery in my camera is dying and I lost the charger during the move East, so I don't have any photos from this year. But I do have photos from last year, so...
**This year's photo of Wombles lifted from J's Facebook page.

The Circle of Life

Let me stop you right there.  No, we haven’t been watching The Lion King.

We’ve started our science curriculum! 

Which does not include a viewing of The Lion King.

I decided that this year we’d do an overview of the various general scientific areas. A One-size-fits-all sort of thing.  Including my size. This year (among other things) we are going to learn how to identify different plants and animals and constellations and such. You know, basic life skills that are actually useful. So by next summer when we are walking along the canal and one of my kids asks me, “What kind of tree is that?” I will be able to tell them. Strike that. They won’t be asking, because they will know, too.

ANYWAY, today was science day. It started (before I planned) right after breakfast when Wombles started calling us all to come see the praying mantis. Right on our back door! What a great start. I grabbed the camera and ran out, snapping away.

That’s when Wombles said, “Hey Mom, I bet you don’t know what you are standing on.” And I looked down.

My kids are still imitating my resultant heebie-jeebie dance and laughing hysterically.

 We adopted two cats along with the house. Lolita has persistently avoided us. Caesar is a tyrant for affection who leaves “gifts.” Regularly. At the back door. Ewwww.

I did not take a photo. But the two big kids came back and inspected the still-intact extrails (is that a new word? Did I make that up?).

More formal science took place during our daily “flex” period just before lunch. Today it was “Backyard Detective,” except I thought we would venture to the canal tow path. The kids had checklists of things to look for. Clipboards. Snacks. Water bottles. What could be better?

Me getting lost on the way, that’s what, so they could have their snacks and water in the car. No way they could hold all of that with the clipboard, too. PERFECT. As we drove through the countryside on a crisp and sunny early fall day, I had my first little stomach somersault of ready-for-adventure and anything-can-happen. It’s been a while.

We had a blast, finding everything from crickets and grasshoppers to poison ivy.

Wombles was the first to spot the turtle sunning out there.

“Mom, is that an oak tree?” “What does your checklist show that oak leaves look like? Because there are different types of oak.”

 Duh. See what I mean? I need to learn this stuff.

When it was time to head home the kids pleaded for just a little bit further down the path. We went the exact extra distance and Charlie yelled, “HEY, everybody! Come and look!”

 There was a fawn curled up at the side of the path.  It wasn’t alive. It looked exactly like it was sleeping.

The kids were unsure whether it was living or dead. They didn’t believe me that it was already dead. I did not want them to poke it. I reminded them of our tromp up Mt. Hough earlier this summer; we were driving back down the mountain and came across a fawn born within the last two hours. I reminded them of how protective the mama deer had been, and how it had seemed as if she would charge the van if necessary. We looked around. No sign of mama deer.  I think that was what finally convinced them.

Pixie wanted us to take it home and bury it. Bud and Nutmeg wanted to pray. Bud to himself, but Nutmeg in her classic style of saying “Thank you for” and then saying what she was asking for. “Thank you for you make the deer alive again.”

Amen and Amen. And that everything sad is coming untrue.

Weekend Review

Well, we made it through the weekend.

The weekend was great. Saturday, we found a queen bed at a good price for the guest room downstairs (yes, that former indoor soccer arena) and brought it home. Jesse strapped it to the top of the van and we made it back before it started to rain.

Once here, we discovered that the box spring won't fit down the stairs. WILL NOT. We, who have moved so many things so many times and have not yet had to set a couch afire to get it out of an apartment (although we thought we might, that time in Philadelphia) have finally met our match.

Yesterday we visited a new church--the third since our arrival. The familiar prayerbook liturgy was calming and familiar, so that I felt at home instead of a stranger. It also helped hook me into worship in spite of a tantrum on one side and a serious wriggler on the other. The stone and stained glass windows felt familiar to us all, after last fall, and the choir and organ were throwbacks to so many places besides the present that it felt like home.

The church is downtown, so afterwards we walked over to the Princeton Jazz Festival, saw some of campus, and even stopped to explore a classic toy store the kids have been wanting to visit. Tucked onto a bookshelf there I found a book I promised for a birthday gift earlier this summer: only to then find it was out of print. I've been checking, just-in-case, every book store I've passed. There were two copies. VICTORY! I bought them both. (It's coming, Salem!)

Today we were back in the saddle with school, finally with almost all of the resources/curriculum/books I need. It went pretty smoothly. I am still pretty scattered, but the children are finding their rhythm. No fish died today. However Charlie may have broken a toe--kicking something else in the basement (a balloon with no water in it, this time).

I had decided that this afternoon would be the day to go and get proper church clothes for cold weather. The boys especially were in need. We traipsed around from one store to another in the late afternoon (never a good idea, but staying home all day wasn't either). As the afternoon progressed Bud started complaining about his toe. I know his incredible tolerance for pain and I should have realized--but I didn't, until we got home and I saw how swollen it was.  (He didn't mention it before we left the house). We'll see how he wakes up.

We got home late and I warmed up leftovers while the kids got in pajamas (it's J's long day in, so we haven't seen him since breakfast). I was dangerously close to "the edge," and if another marble had gone down the sink I think I would have lost it. Instead, as I was scratching one of the boys' backs at bedtime--one of our special sabbatical traditions--Bud asked, "How do you KNOW just where to scratch? This is perfect!" Wombles said, "I think it's because she's read a lot of books. She's really smart." So while I may not be a king, I have at least moved up to Queen-with-knowledge status. It made me laugh.

Last night I told J that I bet there was a video online for how to get that box spring down the stairs.  Ever since a few years ago I found about a dozen instructional videos for how to fold up a Playhut tent, I have known there are probably people out there who have faced every logistical challenge I can face. And made a video to show how they conquered it. And today, sure enough! I found directions. J's a bit skeptical, but we even already have the circular saw!!

Happy Monday,
H

Week 1.5 of school

We started homeschool last week, although not all of the materials were in yet. It's proven to be a good way to ease back into the school year: tackling whatever subjects we already have the resources for in-hand.

If only we could ease into parenting similarly. Only tackling the issues for which we currently have resources--patience, humor, wisdom, whatever--already in hand. But it turns out that 24 hours with the Ninjas cannot be mapped out into 36 cute weeks of lesson plans (I think I make this mistake every time I homeschool. It's all fun and games until someone rolls in a pile of wet grass clippings right as we're supposed to leave. BUT THAT WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN some crazy lady shrieks inside of my head). 

Yesterday morning, for example, started out lovely. I grabbed my camera and took pictures of this idyllic homeschool life because you have to capture it when you can I wanted to share what our days are like. As it turns out the photos and story don't match up exactly but I'll plow ahead anyway. With the note that yesterday Jesse was gone from mid-breakfast until after all of the kids were in bed...which was considerably past bedtime.

The Tangram Challenge: Playing Tangoes

Yesterday, a fish in our koi pond died. He somehow wrangled himself into an area he couldn't escape from, and expired. That was sad.

Pattern block patterns: precursors to Tangoes.

Last night before bed, someone (who was not supposed to be playing with marbles) rolled a marble down the bathroom sink. Before I eventually fished it out three hours later, a toothpaste cap and pink barrette had mysteriously followed. Given that it was at the end of the day, that little scenario almost pushed me over the edge.

We got three packages in the mail yesterday!

Ohmyword we got a HUGE box of books from Aunt Joy. And there was much rejoicing. MUCH.

Oh, the books. And the beautiful custom dress from Nona.

Miss Maddie sent us BananaGrams!!!

But in between all of this happening, I ran downstairs to the basement to retrieve the laundry. I turned to the guest room to turn off the light...and stepped in a puddle of water. What?  I know the basement is prone to flooding, so I immediately began scouting out the source of the water. It wasn't deep but was plentiful-- it had settled into low parts of the painted, concrete floor.

I couldn't find a source--the exterior walls were dry (it hadn't rained in a week). I checked the adjoining bathroom--maybe some ninja had overflowed something? Or dumped the 1.5-gallon dehumidifier receptacle and...spilled?

No. The bathroom floor was dry, although the guest room floor was wet up to the threshold of it. Hmm.

I walked out, crossing "the den" to the laundry room...maybe the washing machine had flooded (even though I only had clothes in the dryer?? Pipes? Hello?).

At the door of the laundry room were three soaking wet throw blankets. But no water around them. Just...wet. ???

"Bud! Could you come down here a minute?!"

"Sure, Mom!"

Clompety-clompety down the stairs.

"Hey, What's up?"

"Bud...could you shed any light on the water in the guest room?"

Lightbulbs. All over his face.

"Oh, sure! I totally forgot. I was playing indoor soccer with a water balloon! And it broke."

"And...you tried to clean it up with the throw blankets?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't get all of it, because there was just SO MUCH water. You know, I have played soccer with a flat soccer ball before, but never with something that was squishy-soft but ALSO had...had..."

"Some weight to it?"

"Yeah!"

I'm just going to stop that story right here. Does it count as a science experiment or not?

Before the fish died, when it was all fun and games.

"Can I take a silly?"

We can't keep the kids away from catching the frogs.

 

He explained to the checkout clerk today that "we do catch and release."

I feel sorry for the frogs.
 

Nearly deleting Pixie's Book Commercial. Oops.

Painting outside=idyllic. Only using pink and purple=Nutmeg.

Today Wombles was really mad at me about a consequence. He also said that Dad wouldn't agree with it so he wasn't going to have to do it. I explained that Dad and I were on the same team, and that we equally give consequences. He shrieked, "That's not true! Dad's a KING and you are a QUEEN and kings are more powerful than queens so I WON'T HAVE TO DO IT."

I know better than to get into this. But I did anyway.

"Queens are actually just as powerful as kings."

"No they are not! Kings have--have had a LOT more women killed than Queens have killed men."

"That's NOT something to be proud of! Go get in the van."

I'll get that biography of Elizabeth I from the library right away. And Isabella de Castile. Homeschool, you know.

Here We Are.

We have ended our wonderful travels (for now). 

This is where we are:

This is why we're here:

This is what I'm reading:

This is what the kids are doing:

Rain(!)

Football

Reading

Paper Airplane War in the Basement

This is where we were a year ago:

Athens

I mostly feel like I am sleepwalking around the house and through the day, with pieces of me in three different time zones and with my thinking suspended from all except whatever is the next thing. We are settling in--meaning, most of our clothes are unpacked and we have started school (we are homeschooling this year). Desks are arranged, food is cooked. The kids have been champs--true roadtrip ninjas.

The Final Hotel: Richmond, VA

Ever since deciding to accept Princeton's offer we have said that the kids would be fine--they are used to picking up and replanting and then moving again, after all of their practice during our adventures last fall. I think that Jesse and I are pretty good at it, too. But how to settle in enough somewhere we'll be for all four seasons instead of just a month? How to feel at home instead of anticipating the bounce? I am actually going to have to learn how to drive through this crazy East-coast traffic to find food...haircuts...Target. I realized this afternoon that I would much rather stay cozied up in this lovely home and yard and have everything sent to me directly by Amazon. Without going out. Ever.

Pretty sure that doesn't fall under the "resident alien" category that I spent last fall promoting.

So, one of the puzzles for this year will be figuring out where sabbatical and resident alien intersect--how much to pull back and where to reach out. For now, we are basking in the humidity (overheard: "Sweetheart, is there a reason you don't want to run the air conditioning? Like, some kind of philosophical objection?"), meeting neighbors, looking for babysitting...and ordering from Amazon.