T-ball. Aka: This one’s for the grandmas!

I can not even begin to tell you how adorable T-ball is.  It’s even more adorable than it was ten years ago when McKayla was in T-ball.  I didn’t think that it could be possible to get any cuter than a little girl with pig tails.  Somehow, following a week of major games, minor games and multiple practices, perspective starts to sink in.  It’s adorable, and all that matters at the end of the game is what kind of snacks you got, not who won or loss or if the umpire was fair and there isn’t even a small amount of self flagellation.

Nate was first to bat.  He swung and missed.  Loud clapping and cheering was still heard from the stands though.

Then he swung again.  He didn’t miss this time, his aim was just a little bit too low though.  “No highs! No lows! Wait for the perfect pitch!”

The third time, he didn’t exactly miss the ball.  He swung the bat so hard that he swung around and hit the ball on the second time around.   He’s an amazing bunter.  We might as well let him play up next year, just skip a second year of t-ball altogether and play farm.

There are no outs in t-ball.  I’m not sure if it’s because 4-6 year olds will cry uncontrollably if they get out or because it’s near impossible to get a group of 4-6 year olds to play as a team.  Either way, he made it to first base.  Do you know what else I love about t-ball players?  I love how willing the players are to pose for the camera.  I can’t get the older boys to even glance at me in the stands let alone pose and wave.

As a side note, don’t you just love how tiny those little cleats are?

Jacob waited patiently for the whole team to bat.  He was the last batter, this means that he gets to hit a grand slam (by default, but still a grand slam)  Someone has to bring all those runners home.  This may look like some serious strategy talk.  It’s not though, it’s really a consoling.   Jake was upset because the helmet was too big.  Near tragedy when you’re four.

After the pep talk, he approached the plate with determination.  He hit the ball on the first try.

The importance of a grand slam was a little lost on him though.  Or maybe, he realized that speed isn’t really necessary when you’re the last batter in t-ball.  They’ll wait for you.  This is him leaving third and moseying his way to home.  I particularly love his hands in his back pockets.

Sometime during Mike’s first t-ball game, he whispered to me (in a very audible volume), “Baseball is stupid.  All you do is sit on the bench and wait for your turn to bat.  Then you sit on the base waiting for everyone else to bat you home.  Then you sit in the outfield waiting for the ball to come to you.  Which it never does.”  Out of the mouth of babes.

It also seems to be a sentiment held onto by his younger brothers.

What should you do while you’re doing all that waiting on the field?  Pick up all those rubber pieces from the turf field, of course.

Or, maybe you should stoicly stand in the outfield day dreaming.

That is, of course, until the ball comes your way and all the parent’s hear the Peter, Paul, and Mary song in their heads.

The second inning was even more adorableness.  I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be there to be part of it.  It was much of the same, batting, hitting, running, walking, complaining.  Then there was Nate pitching (which really only means he stands in the general area of the pitchers mound, with a helmet on because I’m guessing one daisy picking kid too many took a ball to the head.)

And when you’re the pitcher, what position is the perfect compliment for your twin brother? Of course, it’s the catcher.

When Mike was old enough for t-ball, he did his classic fist pump and said, “YES!  NOW EVERYONE WILL HAVE TO COME AND WATCH MY GAMES! IT’S MY TURN NOW!”

Nate and Jake don’t seem to have that kind of drive (or egoism), they really only care about the snack. It was the thought of the snack that got them through the game.  At the between inning slump, it was the enticement of rice krispie treats and cheese sticks that made them don their batting helmets with as much determination as a tired four-year-old can.

One good thing

There are a lot of downsides from living 830 miles from your closest family members and friends.  One of the upsides is the mail.  On Monday, Grandma Sharon called and briefed me on her plan.  The Easter bunny was delivering packages to each of the kids.  They were expected to arrive on Wednesday.

Nate and Jake made bunny mail signs for the mailman. We found our largest basket and walked down the driveway with some tape and scissors.  I couldn’t convince Jake to come with us.

“It’s rainy.  My feet will be cold.  I don’t want to be wet.  Nate will do a good job.”

Please ignore the lime green hair.  It’s paint from our chicken coop and this kid avoids washing his hair like the plague.

Once down at the mailbox we decided that there really needed to be a sign on the basketandon the mailbox, just in case the Easter Bunny became confused.

Don’t you just love Nate’s bunny?

I exclaimed to Jake, “I love your chick!  We should color him in yellow”

Jake:  That’s not a chick!  That’s a bunny!

Me:  Oh, where are his floppy ears? 

Jake:  They wouldn’t fit.  The M is in the way.  I put them over on the side.

I have a really great picture of our whole mailbox.  Alas, it has our address on it, and though I love you all, I’m not a huge fan of impromtu visiting.  I like to have at least 20 minutes to run around the house like a crazy serial killer hiding all the mess.  That way when you come over you’ll be at little less shocked by my wonderful housekeeping skills.

The best laid plans never quite seem to work out.  The mailman brought our eggs to the door, instead of leaving them in the basket.  I think she wanted to be in on our fun.  We politely waited until she had driven down the driveway and around the corner until we snuck down the driveway, placed the eggs into the basket, took a photo and ran back home to open them.  It’s the photographic evidence which will convince them later that the Easter bunny really does exist.

We left McKayla’s egg in the basket so she’d have a surprise when she came home from school.   She said she saw it as she drove by on the bus.  When she got off she ran all the whole way home to see what it was.  I guess you’re never too old to still be excited about the mail.

The eggs were all cracked and Mike’s had a small hole, but they made it with their stuffings completley intact.  The kids had to open them with scissors and teeth and fingernails.   It was no small feat, because they had been taped shut to prevent hatching.

And once they were open to reveal their bounty full of candy, tissue paper, balloons, and bouncy balls we were literally bouncing off the walls.  Most definitely the best $5 per kid spent in a very long time!

Randomness that I don’t want to forget.

I’m not sure if it’s just the fertility of spring or its the inundation of all of the adorable baby crafts on Pinterest or an unexpected baby announcement in the mail, but whatever it is, I feel the brevity of time and the growing up of my children.  I no longer have any babies.  I’m quickly approaching not having any preschoolers.  I know that soon, very soon, these little humans entrusted in my care will cease to entertain me in the ways that they do now.  I only hope that I can at least remember a fraction them when they are still small.

Jake crawled in our bed (like he seems to do every night).  He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and then said, “Daddy, could you snore at little bit more quietly.  I’m trying to sleep here.”

Every morning Nathaniel is the first up.  He wakes up happy.  From the moment his eyes open he never stops talking.  He talks and talks and talks.  The first words out of his mouth are.  “Good morning”  the second ones are “I’m hungry”.

Marshall has a supplemental grammar book.  He had to write sentences about nouns.  One word was Libertarian Party.  His sentence:  I will bring cupcakes to the Libertarian Party.  I thought about going over things like Proper Nouns and Common Nouns and visual clues like capital letters, but I was so entertained by the sentence, I just left it.  For the last few weeks I’ve been referring back to the Libertarian Party and it’s cupcakes and chuckling.

My Dad is here making me a chicken coop.  Marshall is a little disappointed he can’t use the power saw.  I wish I was a crustacean.  Then I could use power tools and it wouldn’t matter if I ran over my arm.”  I think he either doesn’t give the saw enough credit, or he gives the crustacean too much credit. Either way, it’s a good thing he can’t use the saw.

Nathaniel still says hangerbur instead of hamburger.  I can’t bring myself to correct him and loose the cuteness.

I realized this week that Mike still believes in the Easter bunny. Mom, how will the Easter bunny makes us a yarn maze here at our new house?  Do you think he’ll hide the eggs in the forest?  I hope not.  I don’t want to be looking for candy in the rain.

In case you were wondering

Do you know what you need when you get ready for speech?

A mustache!

And do you know what you need when you’re the brother of the kid going to speech?

That’s right. A matching mustache.

And do you know what you say to everyone who asks when you grew such a nice mustache?

Nathaniel: It’s not a real mustache.  It’s just marker.

Just in case you were worried that my four-year-olds decided to stop shaving. You can now be rest assured it was only a marker, not actual facial hair.

As a side note: When I took Marshall to his first baseball practice we played at the park.  It’s been much too long since we’ve been to the park.  Nathaniel and Jacob have forgotten how to slide the fireman pole and do the monkey bars.  I blame the great Pacific Northwest for that.  We haven’t truly acclimated to cold.  If it’s sunny here, it’s still cold. No one really feels like going to the park and freezing.  Especially me.  I guess technically you could blame me, but let’s not.

March. It’s a tease.

For those of you who don’t know, I gave up Facebook for Lent.  I know facebook is a pretty big sacrifice, it’s right up there with the torments which Jesus endured.  I’ve found that I really don’t miss it as much as I thought I would.  I do miss things like pictures of the most adorable baby ever and having someone to share the hilarity and mayhem which ensues at our home.  The first few days every time something funny or nice happened, my first thought was “I’ve got to post this on face book”.  Things like

Jake:  Mom, why does my nose have coral growing on it? (referring to his booger nose upon waking up this morning)

or

What a glorious day!  The sun is out, it’s a sweltering 50 degrees and there isn’t a rain cloud in sight!

Instead, I’m trying to remember to send up prayers of thanksgiving and praise because I’m pretty sure that I’ve been a little bit lacking in that department lately.  I’m also trying hard to share those things with the people actively involved in my life not just the 350 acquaintances on facebook.  I’m also trying not to replace Facebook with Pinterest (aka:facebook-light).

March is the month of baseball.  This year we’ll have four boys on three different teams in three different divisions.  I’ve broken out my trusty crockpot and dusted off all of my portable bleacher recipes so that we can still eat as family even if we are sitting in the cold miserable rain of the pacific northwest. I’ve heard that wind shelters, hand and feet warmers, and propane heaters are a necessity for spectating little league.  So much for spring.

If I would have had any amount of foresight I’d have totaled up how much I’ve spent on baseball paraphernalia. It’s amazing how much we still needed to buy when we’ve been saving this stuff for the last 10 years.  Maybe it’s better that I don’t know.

March also means St. Patricks day.  I’ve made a new resolve to make more of an effort to celebrate and decorate for the holidays.  So far I made a lucky four leaf clover garland.  It was incredibly easy.  I cut clovers from felt and chained them together by sewing right down the middle.

In the background you can see the lovely heart garland I made for Valentine’s Day.  I couldn’t bear to take it down.  I absolutely adore the cheery rainbow it provides on the backdrop of gloom and rain that keeps appearing day in and day out.  I rationalize it because rainbows are an important part of St. Patricks day.

I’m also trying hard to offer more opportunities for painting, cutting and pasting projects for my preschool crowd.  I spent 20 minutes cutting out more pieces than I care to count for two little leprechauns.  It took less than 10 minutes to glue the whole things together. This is probably why I don’t like to do these type of projects.  It might also be because I’m a little anal retentive.

Me:  Wait!  Remember use a dot not alot!

Nate:  okay.

Me:  Wait!  Don’t glue that there!  That would make his arm look funny!  Hold on, glue it right here.

Nate:  okay.

Me:  Wait!  Don’t put the feet on yet, we need the pants before the socks.

Nate:  okay.

Of course, Jacob wouldn’t have anything to do with my directions. I’m really glad that he did it on his own.  I love the crooked arms and misplaced black part of the hat.

Please note Jaob’s Leprachaun’s goatee and beard.  And the lines on his socks.  I love that Nate’s Leprauchaun has glasses, blue hair and wears his pants pulled up to his chest.  It gives him character.

I have some rainbows, pots of gold and leprauchaun traps planned for the rest of the month.

Besides baseball and St. Patty’s day March also means spring.  March means planning a vegetable garden and finding plans to build our first chicken coop.  It hopefully means breaking ground on a small pond.  It also means clean up from winter storms. We won’t have to worry about firewood for a very long time.

March also means spring fever.  It’s that time of year when we’d like to slack off on our studies but we can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Our books are now open to the second half rather than the first.  It means finishing a science book and moving onto a bird study unit.  We’ve hung a finch bird feeder (which don’t seem to attract finches yet) and a hummingbird feeder (which brought our first humming bird today!).  If there wasn’t a better sign of spring I’m not sure what else would be.

Happy Valentine’s Day

To the man that may be just about perfect,

There are very few people that I think are quite as lucky and blessed as I am. 

You may not be completely perfect, but you complete me.  There are some days when I’m not one hundred percent sure if you’ll make it through the day before I throttle you with rolling pin.  More likely though, those are on the days when I expect you to read my mind, anticipate all of my needs, and serve me a never ending supply of chocolate and wine. 

You may have tricked me with your amazing gift giving prowess in our dating years.  The hand carved photo frame, the surprise vacations away, the scrapbook of our first year together complete with love letters, ticket stubs and memorabillia, may have fooled me into expecting amazing gifts on every holiday, including Ceaser Chavez day.  The day we married gave way to plastic dolphins, wine corkers and hand sanitizer.  Yet, I wouldn’t trade 50 more years of crappy gift giving. Every day, you give me the most perfect gift of your love. 

You love my children as if they were your own.  Never once have you made anyone feel unloved or as if they didn’t belong. In our first year of marriage, you went from zero to five kids.  The birth of our twins did not eradicate or minimize your love for the other three.  I know how rare this is.  I am daily awed by your amazing ability to remain patient and calm with a sullen and sour teen, or a complaining and fit throwing boy.  I appreciate the sacrifices you make to attend as many baseball, soccer, softball, and volleyball games, to go to every cub scout and boyscout meetings as possible or to sit at the table for hours and explain the same algebra concept over and over. On the hardest days, the days that I am ready to drop a teenager or a nine-year-old off at the fire station, you gallantly come rescue them and me with your patience and love. Yet, I do not find the greatest testimony of your love in these things.  The greatest testimony is that no one ever doubts that these are all your children.  People are shocked to find out that you are not biologically all of our children’s father.  There are not enough words to tell you how much I appreciate this.

You are a wonderful father.  I am grateful to have you as a parenting partner.  We may not always see eye to eye, but we make a good team. The example which our boys will refer to is one that will form them into amazing men.  They will be Godly men, good providers, loving husbands, present and active fathers.  They will be slow to anger and quick to laugh.  They will be fair, honest, trustworthy and loyal.  They will be gracious and demonstrative with their love. The legacy which you are leaving will trickle down into our grandchildren. When our daughter chooses a husband she will have a hard time finding a man worthy of the example which you have laid before her.

On the days when I definetly am not deserving of your love, you still graciously outpour it.  The days where there is more sulking, complaining, pouting and passive agressive behaviour than anyone should have to endure, you react with love.  If you kept a tally, I’m pretty sure I’d have to repay you with breakfast in bed, back rubs, and some other things that start with ‘b’, for the next 80 years to even come close.  But you don’t.  You react with love, you are gracious with your forgiveness, and you do not hold a grudge.  I am forever thankful to God, for blessing me with a man that daily exemplifies the complete love of Christ to his family. 

Thank you for loving me, for reacting with love even when I don’t.  Thank you for moving me somewhere beautiful and then filling all the gaps and holes which were left from being far from my friends and family. I am so appreciative to be married to a man whom I am so equally yoked with.  You challenge me, entertain me, make me laugh, uplift me, help and encourage me. You are my very best friend. 

I love you very, very, much!  Even though I’m expecting dinner at Chipotle and a pair of socks, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

 

 

 

Engineer, Lumberjack. Practically the same

If you’re not a homeowner, let me tell you something about homeownership.  It sucks.  If the water heater goes out, sucks to be you.  There’s no landlord to call.  You better hope that you find a really awesome youtube video or a very informative guy at Home Depot.  If your heater won’t heat the house higher than 63 degrees, it sucks to be you.  You better hope you know an honest heater repair guy.

Let me tell you about owning a piece of forest.  It sucks even more.  I guess if you own 60 acres and a mule, then it probably sucks less.  If a tree falls on the back forty, who cares?  Free firewood!  But if you only own 1.65 acres, each tree is like a mini heart attack.  Each tree could fall on something you care about:  the house, the car, a kid, the transformer.

We have two dead trees on our property, and one more which might be ours or might be the neighbors.  Since we’ve moved in, Dave’s been talking about being a lumberjack.  It wasn’t very helpful when all of his engineering friends came over and thought they were lumberjacks too.  There were talks about angles and hypotenuses and trajectories and laws of physics and gravity.

Now that it’s turned cold and there are things that us Californians aren’t used to, things like ice and snow and sleet, people are talking about things which we have no knowledge of.  Things like water spigot covers and tree hazards and freezing pipes.  Our neighbor had trees felled and they came over and gave us a quote for $1600 to cut three trees down!  Yes $1600 to cut a trees down.  I figured they could fall and hit the house and our insurance deductible would be less than that.

We woke up this morning to a fire in the back yard.  I called the neighbor to make sure she knew that there was smoke billowing from the forest.

Her:  Yes.  A tree fell last week and we’re burning the branches.

Me:  I heard that tree fall!  It made a loud crack!

Her:  Really?  We didn’t hear it and it came feet from the house! By the way?  Are you going to take care of that tree in the front? It looks hecka (except she didn’t say hecka because that’s very NorCal) scary!

I relayed the conversation to Dave.

Dave:  I’ll go cut it down right now!

Me: Don’t you have homework to do?

Dave:  I take my procrastination seriously!

Me:  So, it’s not that I don’t trust you and I’m not confident in your lumberjack skills, it’s just that I’m a big fan of gravity.

And I thought that ended the conversation.

Until I heard the chainsaw fire up.

Please excuse the terrible pictures.  I didn’t dare venture from the confines of the house.  I thought about taking all the kids to the movies but then if Dave ended up sawing through a limb no one would be here to call 9-1-1.

Marshall:  What is Dad doing?

Me:  Cutting down the tree!

Marshall:  I didn’t know we needed firewood that bad.

Nate:  I hope he doesn’t die.  I like him.

And then the chainsaw stopped.  I wondered if there were emergency tree surgeons willing to come finish cutting down a tree on a Saturday during Thanksgiving weekend.  I also wondered how much that would cost us.  I figured at least a 50% mark up.  I wonder if they’d take some banana bread in trade.  1600 loaves of banana bread.  Totally doable.  Maybe I could barter with my R2D2 hat.

Dave:  I’m going to run to Sears.  It looks like I need some chain grease.

Me:  You’re going to leave the tree like that?!?

Dave:  Yes.  One of two things will happen.  It will be like that when I come back.  Or, it will fall while I’m gone and the work will be done.

Me:  Or it will fall and take out the transformer and we’ll be without power and there will be a live power line wriggling on the ground and we’ll start a fire.

Dave:  Come on, it’s too wet to start a serious fire.  And if the tree takes out the transformer we’ll just call PSE and tell them a tree fell.

Me:  And we’ll get a big bill for taking out the power line.

Dave:  Only if we admit to it.

Me:  I think it’s rather obvious you were trying to cut down the tree.

Dave.  Rouge lumberjacks.  Happens all the time.

And he made the final cut.  The tree didn’t fall.  It was a little anticlimactic.

And then Dave pushed on it.

Nothing.

Then he started to cut some more with the chainsaw.  From inside we saw the tree swaying back and forth.  I started fervently praying protection over the house, the cars, Dave, the driveway (I had been praying before, but this was a little frantic, like incessant doorbell ringing or stalkerish calling).

The scariest moment was when the tree finally decided to cave to gravity. TIMBER!!!

I think I’ll have to go out and buy him a red and black plaid wool shirt and a pair of suspenders. All of the kids ran outside and the neighbors came out of their hiding places.