Java Mel

Wanna know how bad the semester is? I've resorted to drinking coffee.

I'd say I'm still far from an avid coffee drinker. I still prefer tea. The purists out there would die if you saw what I do to my coffee to make it palatable to me. I understand completely. I feel that way about chocolate.

I can't handle my caffeine. It drives me insane, and most times I drink decaff everything. I will drink one caffeinated beverage in the morning, usually tea, sometimes diet soda. It has to be bad if I've resorted to coffee. Whether it has more caffeine or less than tea, I don't know, but at least it appears to affect me more, even if it is just psychologically.

The new habit began on my drive to school. I'd stop for gas. I'd pay. I saw in the Redners quickie mart that there was a hot cocoa dispenser, french vanilla coffee, and  flavored creamers, amaretto to be exact. So, I took a 12 oz cup, filled it half way with french vanilla, then filled the rest with cocoa, two flavored creamers, a handful of ice (I'm a wimp) and stir until thoroughly mixed. In essence, a mocha, since that's about the only way I will drink coffee.

After a while, I decided my costly habit was adding up, penny wise. So, I did it. I broke down and bought some french vanilla coffee and some hot chocolate in order to make the combination I've come to know and love. The mr. received a one cup coffee brewer for Christmas one year, and that's what I've been using, that and my travel mug. Before I know it, I'll be drinking this stuff without the cocoa.

Nah.

See it wiggle, See it jiggle...

Conversations I'd never dream I'd overhear when I was a parent.

Joshua(supposedly fixing his lunch for school tomorrow): Your butt really wobbles. Wobbabobba wobbabobba

Ruth (also supposedly fixing her lunch for school tomorrow): hahahahahaha

Joshua: Mine wobbles too, but I have to relax it first. Go ahead, wobble it. Wobbabobba wobbabobba

Ruth: hehehehehehehehe You're right!

Joshua: wobbabobba wobbabobba wobbabobba

Ruth: BWAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

How to make mom fall up the stairs

(a handy twelve step guide for kids with parents)

I'm in so much pain! I just fell UP the basement stairs. How does one fall UP stairs? Well, let me tell you, it's very easy. Ruth has it down to a science. It is a regular occurrence in this house that I stumble over her things at least once a week. Usually while going up a set of stairs. That's not quite difficult here considering we have three flights of steps from the basement to the attic and all the rooms are utlitized on all floors.

With out further ado, let me share with you her twelve easy steps.

1. Get mom to put kids toys in the somewhat finished basement. (Ok, it IS finished, but with seventies paneling and gross brown carpeting).

2. Ask your grandmother to buy you something useless for Christmas. For example: bella dancerella ballet kit

3. Take present out of box.

4. Have Dad assemble gift.

5. Discover the toy is not at all as much fun as the commercial said it would be

6. Listen as parental units tell you to put toy away.

7. Let toy sit around neglected for almost a year.

8. Pull neglected toy out from basement, because it was forgotten how un-fun it is

9. Observe parental unit number two inform you that toy MUST be put away because he is tired of tripping on it in the kitchen.

10. Wait for parental unit to discover that you did NOT put toy back in the basement, but dumped it on the floor right under the stair landing.

11. Know that once at school the parental unit will go down to the basement, notice toy, step over it while think to herself "I'm gonna make that kid put this away when she gets home from school or else I'm gonna throw it away!"

12. Know that parental unit will attempt to go back up stairs, stepping over toy again, getting foot caught in the toy, and doing a face plant on the steps, while banging knee, elbow, and getting a nice nasty brush burn up the leg.

(note, these tips can work on a level floor too. Make sure anything is in the normal walking path of the parent before leaving for school every morning. Like a mouse in a trap, eventually a parental unit will fall prey. Also note, parental units will make you regularly clean up trap every day upon arrival home from school. By varying location of trap daily, parental unit will be caught off guard and thereby allowing frequent capture. Otherwise, parental unit will grow weary of the routine, and begin picking up said items for you, which is what you wanted in the first place, right?)

Cinders?

Last night I was working in my weaving room. Hannah sat on the floor quietly playing. She often keeps me company. Suddenly she stopped her little game, looked up towards me and asked, "What are cinders?"

Hmm, what a strange question, I thought to myself, I wonder where this is going? So I decided to dig a little deeper into the four year old mind to see what she was thinking before I answered her question. "What do you mean?"

"What are cinders?" she repeated herself a little more insistently. Com'mon mom, it's not THAT hard to understand what I'm saying.

"Where did you hear that word?"

"At cubbies. While we were yet cinders..."Her voice trailed off.

"AHHH," I exclaimed. Cubbies was the key to unlock her mind. She was thinking about Awana at my sister's church. "You mean Sinners. While we were yet sinners." I then proceeded to explain the word to her.

After a brief pause as she digested this, she asked, "Well then, what ARE cinders?"

I replied, "They're the rocks they put on the road when it snows and ices so that the cars don't slip."

A visual picture must have been forming in her mind because she started to crack up. "That'd be silly. People can't be rocks." she said to herself as she began to shake her head and continued the private conversation, "ahh," Hannah sighed. "While we were yet cinders. How silly."

My Mishka мышка

I might have to change Ruthie's moniker. I might have to start calling her Mishka мышка. Why? Because Mishka мышка is the Russian word for Mouse. Today Ruth, um, I mean Mishka мышка auditioned to be a mouse in the Berks Ballet Theater production of the Nutcracker.

Pretty much anyone who showed up for the audition made it. I didn't realize this, but the BBT's production is pretty much put on by its students. There will only be a few 'professional' adult dancers in the company that will play some of the principals, such as the sugar plum fairy. Everyone else is under twenty, it seems. It was fascinating to watch the teens auditioning for parts in the other room while Mishka мышка was busy scurrying around like a mouse. They will perform at the Sovereign Performing Arts Center, which is a rather large stage and theater. That will be exciting.

I'm uncertain how this will all pan out for her. She was a little out of sorts over the audition. She despises large crowds of people. Today it was suffocatingly claustrophobic. About fifty little Mishki мышки showed up to audition. At the end of the half hour, my little Mishka мышка looked very distressed and tired. I asked her if she really wanted to do this. She was very insistent. I informed her that there would be lots of sitting and waiting and lots of people and sometimes chaos. "Are you sure?" I repeated my question. Mishka мышка nodded her head in the affirmative. She wants to be on stage.

Many parents were veterans, either having their little mouse perform in years past, or having had an older former mouse who had now graduated to "angel." Either way, I was getting the low down. The rehearsal schedule seems to fit in our lives, Saturdays 10-10:45 until after Thanksgiving, then it will be 3-5 pm on Sundays...not too bad. I will have to sew a mouse "hat" for the costume. I can totally understand why the BBT doesn't provide 50 little mouse hoods for costumes. That would get overwhelming. Next week I will get the pattern. We will have a fund raiser of poinsettias or Wilbur buds. (Anyone want to buy a poinsettia?) So, why not add some more insanity to our already busy life.

Really it came down to this. There is one thing that Mishka мышка has been rather persistent about: dancing. She has bugged and pestered and begged for classes for as long as I can remember. And when presented with the opportunity to be part of a major dance production, she was the driving factor for us getting her to this audition today. She didn't forget the date or the time ONCE. Being the middle child, sometimes she gets lost. She ends up following in her older brother's footsteps and does the same activities he's been excelling at for years: soccer, swimming, etc. Or she gets side stepped because of her "cute, sometimes funny, and sometimes very annoying" little sister, Hannah. This is her moment, not the Joshua's, not Hannah's. Even though she'll be surrounded by fifty other little mice, she will be the "star" for the night. That alone, will make it worth it. I hope.

[ed. to anon... to transliterate the Russian ы into english is difficult since there is no exact sound. The reason I (mr. mel) chose the english letter "i" is because the short "i" as in the word "is" is closer to the ы sound than any other.]

The Devil made her do it...

Hannah seems to be on a roll this week.

Today is Thursday. Thursday is the oh-so-treasured-swimming-lesson day. Every morning, Hannah wakes up and says "Is today my swimming lesson?"

"No today is Monday. You have school."

"Is it show and tell?"

"no, that's Friday."

We have the same conversation on Wednesday.

On Tuesdays she gets frustrated because there isn't any school, but there isn't any swimming lesson either. The Tuesday question is always, "So what exactly ARE we going to do today?" Imagine her disappointment when I say "Nothing."

On Thursdays, before she can even ask, I will say "Guess what day it is?"

"MY SWIMMING LESSON!!" Hannah will holler as she leaps out of bed and runs to find her coveted bathing suit, even though her lesson isn't until 2:00pm. It makes for a long day.

"Is it my lesson now?"

"No. After lunch."

"Now?"

"No, not for two more hours."

"Now?"

"Now."

Four year olds seem to have a little more concept of time than three year olds, but not much. At least she doesn't beg every ten minutes like she did last year.

So today, during her much anticipated lesson, she did something rather unusual for the Hannah. She pushed her fellow classmate causing the classmate to cry. Her classmate was bending over to wash off her goggles. Thankfully, the other little girl didn't fall into the water, as Hannah had hoped.

Her teacher asked, "Why did you push her?"

Hannah, all serious, replied, "Well, her hiney was sticking up at me and I couldn't stop myself."

That answer made it just a little difficult for her instructor to go through the water safety rules while maintaining composure.

So easy a four year old can do it!

My mother and sister went to a bead show the other day. They brought home a toy for me: The Diva Custom Cord maker. It's a neato-vambeeto gadget that allows you to braid cords with very little thought required. Can you count to three? Can you rotate a disk in the same direction every time? Well, then you TOO can use the Diva Custom Cord Maker. In fact, it's so easy a FOUR year old can do it!

I believe the technique is really called Kumihimo. I've seen these wooden contraptions around on ebay before, and they really intrigued me. The Diva is mere plastic, but it accomplishes the same effect. I think it's more portable too.

So on Sunday, I received this contraption, and knowing what it was, immediately abandoned my homework and began to make my very OWN CUSTOM CORD! Fascinated, Ruth begged to try it. Sure, I thought, why not, it's easy enough. I knew she could handle it. And handle it, she did. She made a huge long cord that she's been tying everything together with. Brilliant.

This morning, I was trying (emphasis on the word trying) to get some weaving done when Hannah asked, "Can I try that thing?"

"What thing?" I implored, trying to figure out what she wanted.

"You know, that thing. You were using it the other day and it made that LONG long thing."

hmm, two things. That thing that made that long long thing. "OH!" I exclaimed as I figured out she meant the Diva Custom Cord Maker. (I just love saying that). "You want to make your own cord?"

I was skeptical that she could manage it, but what did it hurt to try. I told her that she'd have to do it on her own. I had to weave.

"Ok. I can do it." She responded optimistically. I remained the forever pessimist, figuring Hannah would cry, get frustrated, and constantly make me stop what I was doing to help her. But being the indulgent mother that I am, I set up the cord maker, and got her started. After about two times she said, "Aren't you going to go over and weave?"

"I will. I just want to make sure you've got it first."

"I've got it. You can go and weave." In otherwords, get lost mom.


And surprisingly, she DID have it down. I was so impressed, I ran and got my camera and snagged a video. The radio is playing in the background. I only get one stinkin' station on the dang thing, but I figure some noise is better than no noise. I have to have noise to work.



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Well, her attention span did eventually get the best of the Hannah. She managed to make all of a half of an inch. Still, I'm impressed. She had no tangles. No mix ups. Nothing.

An Afternoon at the Salon

Only once in my life did I attempt to cut my daughters' hair. It only took once to realize that I am no stylist. I ended up taking them to a salon and having their hair "fixed." Don't get me wrong, I cut the Mr's and Josh's hair every two to three weeks when the two of them suddenly feel overwhelmed by the bush growing on the tops of their heads. I am using hyperbole here. Jer would keep his army "do" if I'd let him, and Josh is just obsessively neat with his locks. I asked him once if he'd like to grow his hair long and be a rock 'n' roll drummer, but his alpha male testosterone took over his mouth as he blurted "Heck no! I'd look like a GIRL!!!!" Josh is a little OCD about his hair anyway. I have to talk him through the months of September and October to help him overcome his fear of a shaggy head.

"We need to grow your hair out a little longer for the winter so you wont be so cold."

"I know. I just hate how shaggy it is."

"It isn't even touching your ears."

"I know. I just don't want bangs."

"You wont have bangs. But you'll be cold if you keep your buzz cut."

I kid you not, Josh looks forward to spring when I shear his head. I discovered the real reason behind his angst. He doesn't want to have to spend that extra ten minutes a day combing out his hair. I can't wait to remind him of this fact in a couple of years when he's poised in front of the mirror for an hour trying to get that "just right" moppy look. Or whatever is in style by then.

Due to this crazy semester I'm having, I allowed Ruth to look like a sheep dog. Her bangs were well into her eyes and the layers that had been cut into the back of her hair a month or so ago were practically non-existent. There just hasn't been a moment in time where I could take her to get it trimmed up. I wasn't about to even touch her bangs. I was clipping them back with a bobby pin. Being that today was that oh-so-important holiday of Columbus Day, the kids were off from school, so I dragged them to the mall for a cut. I don't usually go to the mall, I was just desperate and my regular salon is closed on Mondays. Go figure.

We were very fortunate. One of the stylists took us right away, and Ruth hopped up into the chair. Meanwhile, Hannah, began to entertain herself with singing. Before long, she realized she had acquired a captive audience of fellow customers sitting in salon chairs and became more purposeful in her performance. After a bit, Ruth was finished, and it was Hannah's turn in the big chair.

As she hopped up the stylist said, "You like to sing, don't you?"

"Yup!" she replied cheerfully. She was thrilled to get her hair cut.

"How old are you?" asked the stylist.

"I'm four. I'm a Hannah monkey. I'm cute and sometimes funny and sometimes Veeeeeery annoying."

With that, the entire salon burst out in laughter. Hannah, playing to her crowd, ever the comedian, beamed from ear to ear knowing she had reeled them in, and had delivered her punch line with finesse.

The Boy's crazy dream

A few weeks ago, I was upstairs getting dressed when I heard Joshua telling Ruth and Hannah a story. It was rather elaborate, more elaborate than he usually is. Joshua is good at many things, but he doesnt usually make up stories, unlike his cousin whose stories are absolutely incredible. So I asked him "What are you saying? Are you making up a story?"

"No, I'm just telling them my crazy dream I had last night," Joshua replied.

"Can you tell it to me?"

So he began his story, and it was so crazy, I made him stop, and I sat down at the computer and typed it into MS Word so I wouldnt lose it. It seemed incredibly metaphorical and was completely unlike anything Joshua would normaly dream. He tends to be more like the mr.

"I had this crazy dream last night"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it had an elephant in it"

"An elephant? What else?"

"That's it."

That's usually how those conversations go with either of the men in my house.

Without further ado, the Dream:

Daddy was a gold miner, and the more you went upstream, the better the gold was. And if you went up the rainbow stream far enough there was the finest gold, but nobody ever touched it because nobody wanted it to get rotten. So one day Daddy took us down the rainbow stream, which was small and thin but it was right next to a stream that was big and wide. The rainbow stream was colorful. The gold was hidden in clay. We had to get a thin layer of clay. And if the gold didn’t stay in the clay then it would rot. That’s why nobody ever touched it.

So one piece was under a thin layer of clay. You could see because it sparkled through. The clay was grey, dull and grey. And Daddy dug open the clay, but not for long. “You can only peek for a few minutes. Don’t touch it. For we don’t want this gold to rot” But everybody wanted the gold because it would be worth a bazillion dollars. BUT, if they had it for too long, it would rot. It would rot in a half an hour. And it would take them three hours to actually purify the gold so it would be a zillion dollars.

So Daddy closed up the clay, and we went along our way back down the stream. On the other side of the plain stream there were two trees, not ordinary trees. They were alive. The good one got stronger by day. The bad one got stronger by night. Yet they minded their own business even though one was good and one was evil. Daddy said the good tree is old and wise, and the evil tree is bad and unwise. The bad tree wanted the gold, that pure gold. And there was the vulnerable spot in the back of the bad one, yet there was no vulnerable spot in the back of the good one.

Daddy said “we have to destroy the bad tree. There was a flap to control both tree, but it wasn’t a remote controller. Somebody went to sneak behind the evil tree, but there were pricker bushes behind the evil tree. SO he had to go around the good tree and be slim between the two trees because there were old dry leaves that fell to the ground. In the back of the evil tree there was a BIG hole that had something squishy inside. The guy was back there all night, waiting for day because at night he got more powerful and the hole closes up. By day the hole opened up, and he threw a spear into the squishy thing. And the evil tree died, and the good tree could grow during day. At night nothing happened to him.