Saturday, October 20, 2007

Tra la la

Guess what? Oh come on, guess.

It would seem that the silly computer needed a vacation, that's all. After several days of resting quietly it booted up with no challenges to it's internet connection. Who'd've thunk? Which brings me to something else I've wondered ever since having my second child: What exactly does it mean when someone has been admitted into the hospital for "exhaustion?" I mean, you hear this all the time about some starlet or another. And I know they do all kinds of travelling, long hours of filming and appearances and stuff, but did they forget to drink water? They've contracted some awful bug and require IV rehydration? Perhaps they got so lost among the time zones that their poor bodies just forgot how to sleep? Because see, I get really, really tired. So tired that several weeks ago, when putting Q into a new Elmo baseball shirt with matching overalls, it took me about nine hours to figure out what those designer people were thinking when they put "Sesame" on the bib part. You know, as in "Team Sesame." Like, from Sesame Street. Yeah. It frustrated me all day.

So I've always wondered. If I can get that loopy over a piece of clothing, yet never once be offered the sweet relief of a clean bed in a (relatively) quiet place until I can somehow become unexhausted, then what on earth are those silly famous people doing? I'm sure it has something to do with substance abuse, no? But then who puts out there the "exhaustion" label? Their PR people? Somehow, I don't see hospitals being all that willing to make stuff up for their or anyone else's records. I could be wrong there. This has bothered me for years. An unsolvable conundrum.

Q's week this last week was weird. He's clearly been feeling "off"--teething? Growing? Meds need adjusting? And yet, he's chased the pediatrician's pen, caught and kept it, rolled over and over both ways chasing toys, grabbed with an almost perfectly open hand for the balls on a toy in OT. Thursday night he was up 'til three. At about 12:30 we were rocking, I was out of things to do to entertain him. He was clearly sleepy, didn't want to be put down. I started putting his fist up to his nose and mouth, saying, "Nosenosenose. Mouthmouthtmouth." He liked this very much. We played at this for a minute before moving on to his eyes. We've done this before. But this time, he brought his curled index finger to his eye lid, each time saying, "Eye." My mom was sewing in the same room and heard it, stopped to look. I was nearly struck dumb. He just kept going. Fifteen, maybe twenty times he did this.


It made being awake so late much easier to bear. Last night was strange too. Who knows what's up.

A few weeks ago, the girls were sitting at the top of the stairs, putting on their shoes before running outside with their friends, The Twins. K was divulging secrets. Since we're trying hard to use "nice words" (Veggie Tales) when addressing our siblings, I was listening hard. "Do you know what makes S a disgrace?" S looks up, eyes wide, mouth open, alarmed. K continues, "She doesn't like purple."

S relaxes visibly and says, "It's true. I don't."

Bwa ha ha.

Yesterday we went off to the library for our regular book orgy. We left with 50 books. I intend to herd them all through every last one of them. I'm a bit bemused by some of G's choices from the science section--not the "J" science section either. He dove right into A Brief History of Salt and has The Secret Life of Dirt in his stack as well. As we were leaving, the sky was a soft, brilliant blue, scattered thoroughly with puffs of grey and silver and buttery gold. The earth was wet and soaky, forcefully reflecting the upper atmosphere. It was divine.

The windstorms here have completely carpeted road and drive with orangey needles, even tossing in some smaller branches for green garnish. The giant maple leaves did not in fact blow away, much to the collective dismay of all responsible for them. There's enough from the two giant trees to mulch the whole garden three or four times over, or to fill the two huge yard waste bins perhaps six times. The bins are full, so off toddles the wheelbarrow to the garden. If the leaves are left in the flower beds or on the lawn, they provide such thorough cover that they protect what's beneath to death. The chickens will spend the winter in the garden as well, 'fertilizing" so the combination of leaves and well, you know, should provide a bumper crop of whatever the kids decide to plant. We haven't harvested the carrots yet. They seemed to have a rough time, so we decided to leave them be until we close in on a hard frost. G and E "tested" an orange one last week--it was about the size of a man's thumb. I wonder how the purple ones are?

A couple of weeks ago a flock of kinglets stripped the Mountain Ash, all but the very lowest branches. It took them about six hours one afternoon. Sadly, the berries were quite fresh, so no wild birdy antics or flying stunts were observed. About ten days ago, there was a hummingbird hanging out by the fuchsia, just outside the sliding door, just adjacent to the dining table. Those hyper little guys make it really hard to concentrate on school. It seems late for them to be hanging around here, doesn't it?

There's an enormous Golden Retriever who keeps showing up here. Toby thinks it's funny to run away. Fridays are best for this activity. He prefers kids--my kids and their friends--to his boring house. No kids there. What were they thinking? He'll be one in November and his paw prints are a little more than three inches across. He's so big that when I went to tie him up so he'd stay put until his owners came for him, he leaned his head against me rather insistently and pushed me over. What do you think? Is he a mutant dog? Shall we keep a water bowl here for him?

We have big old Orb Weaver spiders protecting the premises. Front windows have their share of webs, the fuchsia on the deck has a cadre of vigilant little beasties. It would be super if we could figure out how to remove the drama from arachnids for the little girls. I happened upon a wolf spider in the laundry room a couple of months ago that was nearly two inches across. I find the suddenness of their appearance quite startling (to say the least--I asked my dad to take care of it), but the Orb Weavers not so much. Maybe because they're pretty stationary, not so likely to be both huge and pop out unannounced at a person. Besides, those webs in the dew seem like diamonds on gossamer, a pairing so unlikely it begs to be touched, worn. We'll leave them up as our organic Halloween decor, at least for now. Heh.

Happy Sabbath, blessed weekend, kiss your beloved an extra time today.


1 comment:

Zoo Keeper said...

That is so cool about Q. Were you jumping up and down screaming or too scared to interrupt... or crying? I cried when my kid saw his first mountain. That was last winter when we had his prescription changed.