At the Pumpkin Patch

Last week Daddy managed to sneak away from his office for a morning (he might not have classes everyday but he's still a very busy guy) to take us to pick out some pumpkins. We headed for scenic Half Moon Bay, to the same farm we visited last year -- and we had just as much fun!

First of all, we're grateful that Daddy has a flexible schedule. The farm wasn't too busy when we arrived on a Thursday morning, but it was really hopping when we left. We can only imagine how crazy it would be on a weekend. Honestly, we're glad we don't have to know.

Next, we had surprisingly good weather. It was chilly and foggy when we arrived, but by the time we left it was sunny and warm. It was a typical coastal California morning -- enough chill to warrant some hot chocolate while we were there, but enough sun to make everyone ditch their sweatshirts for the ride home.

What's left to say? We love pumpkins! And, um, goats.

Kathleen loved feeding the goats, but the goats really loved being fed!

Kathleen enjoyed feeding the goats. For some reason, though, the goats did not love Madeline. They let her pet them, which she liked, but they wouldn't eat out of her hand. And once snubbed by the goats, Madeline wasn't going to do them any favors (like trying to give them food.)

Instead, we perused the pumpkins.

Indy inspected the pumpkins up close...

while Madeline preferred more of an overview.

If they could've carted them, we'd probably have had all these pumpkins on our porch!

And then we took a ride on the train.

Look, a picture of Mama! (See, it happens every now and then.)

And on a rocking horse.

And posed for a photo. Or two.

Well, we tried, anyway. (We didn't even include the outtakes from when we tried to pose all three children on a rocking horse for a photo. I think the concept was maybe okay, but our execution stunk. At least I caught Indy when he fell off. No, really. There goes mother of the year. Again.)

And then -- once fortified by some cocoa and a cookie and some pumpkin pie -- we got down to the actual business of picking our pumpkins. And for that, we need a wheel barrow. Kathleen insisted she could push it herself, but Daddy helped. Just a little.

And then we picked out five pumpkins. Five. We couldn't stop ourselves. There are, after all, five of us. And then we loaded them all up to head home. But first we tried for yet another family photo.

Not quite...

One more try?

Still no.

Like I said, we tried. And really, I think the imperfect series of photos captures our circus more perfectly than any one photo could... So, no photo, but plenty of pumpkins. Not a bad day at the circus!

doctor, doctor!

Doctor Kathleen cheerfully administers some shots to keep everyone "well and healthy." (For the uninitiated, that's what the doctor says in Richard Scarry's Best First Book Ever.)

Kathleen received some miniature scrubs from her cousin Lizzie a while back. Too big for her at the time, they were tucked away with the other gratefully-accepted-but-still-too-big-hand-me-downs. A few weeks ago I actually remembered to look through that storage bin and -- along with a number of other useful items -- we pulled out the scrubs.

Kathleen is in love. Lizzie had worn the scrubs as a Halloween costume, but since Kathleen already had her Halloween costume when we rediscovered these, she's been putting them to other use. She wears them every night as pajamas, lately layered over a long sleeved white t-shirt. (She'll proudly tell you that that's what real doctors do so they don't get cold.) And once she's dressed in her scrubs, she quickly outfits herself with the rest of her doctoring accessories -- at least until we make her take them off for bed. (Incidentally, she sleeps with those items in a doctor's kit next to her bed, so she can get them as soon as she wakes.)

The scrubs were a timely discovery. Between well-baby check-ups and flu shots and an odd infection (on Madeline's leg -- better now, thanks), the circus has made a number of trips to the doctor of late. Some highlights from those visits:

• Kathleen barely cried when she got her flu shot. She started to, and then she stopped. Madeline, on the other hand, could not be consoled. "Dockta hurt me!" she'd wail. Kissed and hugged and sung-to and bribed with milk, she simply continued crying all the way home and then some. The child knows how to hold a grudge.


• Madeline charmed the doctor at her two-year-check-up, singing and talking and moving the entire time. Our pediatrician was spared the indignation that Madeline can demonstrate when vaccinated, since we did that at a separate appointment.


• Indy is, indeed, enormous. At his belated four-month check-up (just before we left for South Dakota), he weighed over 21 pounds. Happily, though, he's completely proportional, in the 98th percentile for both weight and height.


• Indy has four teeth and a super smile. He still insists on eating every three hours through the night, so now that he's six months old, we've finally broken out the rice cereal. He has tackled it with the same enthusiasm he downs his milk.

Indy's first meal of rice cereal. So far, he's a happy eater.

I'm roasting a butternut squash right now, which will be his first taste of vegetables. Let's hope he likes that, too. And let's hope it induces a little more sleeping!

Here I raise my Ebenezer;

Here by Thy great help I’ve come;

And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.

-- Robert Robinson

Two years ago today we rejoiced, reunited.

And today we rejoice again, marveling not only at the way time passes so much more quickly on this side of a deployment, but also -- and more importantly -- at the faithfulness of our God. He brought us through the deployment and Madeline's arrival and then from Hawaii to a new home (a house and a church) and grew our family to include a sweet, chunky little boy. And though not every moment has had the giddy exhilaration of a midnight reunion where the dust of Iraq mingled with Oahu's orchid leis and freshly washed, still sleepy babes, every moment has been -- every moment is -- gift.

But it's easy to forget that in the dailyness of life. Buried in laundry and discipline and dishes, I forget to lift my eyes, to see the enormity of what my God has done for me. I need, like Samuel to build a monument, to mark the victory:

Samuel then took a large stone and placed it between the towns of Mizpah and Jeshanah. He named it Ebenezer (which means “the stone of help”), for he said, “Up to this point the Lord has helped us!” (1 Samuel 7:12)

And so today we pause -- still buried in laundry and discipline and dishes -- to say, "up to this point the Lord has helped us!" Grateful for all He has already done in our lives, we have every confidence that His great love and mercy will be as evident in our future as it has been in our past. How blessed we are.

The Wedding Wrap-Up

Finally, a glimpse of the reason the circus traveled to South Dakota. Granted, this isn't much of a glimpse. Mama and Daddy and Kathleen were in the wedding party, and that made it a little difficult to take many photos. But since we're all about sharing, here's what we've got:

1. Aunt Annie was a beautiful bride. She and her best friend Kevin were married in a darling white clapboard church that was decorated with candles and autumn leaves. We wish them every blessing.

2. Aunt Katherine and Kathleen hanging out before the ceremony. Kathleen was so excited to have been asked to be a flower girl for the wedding -- except that she called it being "a flower fairy." And sometimes a "flower fairy princess." Mama and Daddy were a bit nervous about her role, since our three-going-on-four-year-old can be, well, fickle. But Kathleen was a natural. The doors opened and she strolled down the center aisle of the church, beaming and tossing autumn leaves from her little basket. She was darling. And we were very much relieved.

3. Aunt Annie and Kevin asked Daddy to wear his uniform for the wedding. Madeline was only a few months old the last time that she saw Daddy wear his blues (not that she'd remember), so she was impressed. I love how she's gazing at him. He's her hero, after all. (Mine, too.)

4. Madeline can find fun anywhere, even in a sanctuary. For that reason (and since Mama and Daddy weren't exactly free to restrain her during the ceremony), Madeline and John David hung out in the church's nursery with a nice teenage girl (recommended by the pastor) during the wedding. That poor girl earned her money, as our sweet, extremely tired, monumentally put-out baby screamed for the entire (though, mercifully not lengthy) ceremony. (We couldn't hear it. That's the beauty of the basement nursery.) Consequently, by the time we got to the reception, he was tuckered out:

After a little nap he joined the party, too. He might not be much of a conversationalist, but Indy loves to visit. Just look how happy he was to sit with Grandma and Aunt Eileen! It was such a treat to be able to catch up with family we've haven't seen -- in some cases, ever. Aunt Eileen, for example, hadn't gotten to meet Madeline or John David before the weekend. And the last time she'd seen Kathleen, our girl had been just weeks old!

And then, we danced. And danced and danced and danced.

When our feet could dance no more, we headed back to our house and tucked our littles into bed while we repacked our suitcases.

The next morning, just after we took this photo, we all headed our separate ways. Our girls are already asking when they can see their cousins again...

The cousins, minus Matt and Ethan, who were home for their football games...

Cheer, Cheer...

This one's for you, Grandpa!

Apparently Kathleen has begun training for operatic performance... I also love that the girls seem to think that Notre Dame has "royal" sons, rather than "loyal"!

And though it wasn't their most spirited interpretation of the fight song, both girls do love to cheer for their Irish.

Go Irish! Beat Trojans!

(We know it's a long shot, but like Lou says, "You gotta believe!")

Great Faces, Great Places

South Dakota's license plates read "Great Faces, Great Places." And that pretty much sums up our first two days in that state!

Thursday: Great Places

South Dakota's landscape impressed us from the moment we stepped off our plane in Rapid City. (Well, from the time we stepped outside the airport to find our rental car, anyway.) The sky seemed so vast, so open. We suddenly felt quite small.

By the time we'd loaded children, carseats, and bags into our SUV (which, thanks to providence was equipped with four-wheel-drive) it was too dark to appreciate the landscape as we drove from Rapid City to Deadwood, where Aunt Annie would be married. We could certainly see the snow, though! It swirled in the light from our headlights, fascinating the girls. They couldn't understand why we wouldn't drive down the interstate with the windows open. Madeline made a habit of cheering, "I see snow!" (Incidentally, that sounds more like, "I see no!")

We stopped briefly in Deadwood, visiting with Annie and her fiance, the Golby Grandparents, and some other family members. After some catching up, we loaded everyone back into the SUV and followed Margaret, Craig and (COUSINS!) Ali and Lizzie out to the house we'd rented for the weekend. We'd share it with Katherine, Eric, Sarah and Melissa, too. We'd figured that the extra space would make it easier for cousins to play and littles to nap and parents not to lose their minds. As it turns out, we were right about that.

What we hadn't realized was that the house we'd rented was out. in. the. country. We were so, so grateful to be able to follow Craig and Margaret on our first trip out in the dark and snow and unplowed roads. They'd made their way to the house earlier in the day, so they knew what they were doing. We couldn't even tell that the road to the house was a road at first. Who knows when or if we'd have found it without them!

To get to our (otherwise fantastic) house, we had to follow a dirt (not paved, not gravel -- dirt!) road for two miles as it twisted and turned through the hills. But first we had to pass through an active mining area. We couldn't exactly tell what was going on that first night, though we could see the lights of the big trucks moving around in the quarry. We snapped some photos of the crossing in the daylight. It was a little intimidating. We found it even more so as the giant mining trucks barreled by us!

Once the treacherous drive was behind us, we settled into our house. It was more than big enough for the three families -- boasting five bedrooms, a finished basement (with foosball!), and a living room with a vaulted ceiling and a stone fireplace. So, the cousins explored and played, running off a bit of energy until the littlest ones were bundled off to bed. (Madeline slept in a bed! Fortified with chairs, but still, a bed!) Then the relieved and travel-weary parents enjoyed a glass of wine in front of a roaring fire before we, too, collapsed into bed.

When the sun came up the next morning, we could finally see where we were, and the snowy views were incredible!

We'd managed to find a "great place" to stay!

Friday: Great Faces

Later that morning we headed out (through some pretty serious snow, at points) to see South Dakota's famous " great faces" -- on Mount Rushmore -- for ourselves.

It was entirely worth the drive.

The whole crew at Mount Rushmore. (From left to right: John David, Mama, Kathleen, Daddy, Aunt Eileen, Lizzie, Margaret, Ali, and Madeline.) You might not be able to see it, but Lizzie is holding her social studies book. With Mount Rushmore on the cover!

Indy wasn't too happy about the cold, fuzzy bear-eared coat notwithstanding.

Madeline didn't seem to mind as much. (How much do I love the photos from Mount Rushmore? They're almost too much fun to be real! Though they are, in fact, real.)

We went into the park with our family, Margaret's family, and Daddy's Aunt Eileen. While we were there, Katherine's family joined the party on their way in from Illinois. We had an enthusiastic reunion just outside the park's theatre. The movie was quite good, but the arrival of an aunt, an uncle, and two more cousins totally eclipsed it, at least for our girls.

On our way out of the park, we got an up-close-and-personal moment with a mountain goat.

Kathleen and Melissa ventured closer than Mama would have...

In addition to great photographs and an introduction to a goat, our trip to Mount Rushmore afforded us the opportunity to purchase and stamp Indy's own Passport to Our National Parks. It was his first national park -- many more to come!

The rest of our trip was devoted to wedding activities, which deserve a post of their own. But our introduction to South Dakota's "Great Faces, Great Places" was wonderful. We'd love to take the whole family back again sometime (we'd even stay in that same house -- though maybe in the summer!) to enjoy more of that beautiful state. (We want a meet-up, Hendersons!)

A wintry weekend

Sorry we've been absent for a bit, friends. Once Daddy completed his comp (we won't know the results for quite a while yet, but we are hopeful that all went well), the circus took a bit of a vacation! Well, we didn't leave for "vacation" right away... in fact, we didn't leave until Thursday. But we spent Tuesday and Wednesday packing and preparing for a trip to South Dakota for Aunt Annie's wedding.

When Indy heard "vacation," he broke out his sunglasses.

When Madeline heard "South Dakota," she broke out her hat and mittens.

As it turns out, Maddie had the right idea!

Although the weekend was cold and very, very snowy, we loved (almost) every minute of it. (You simply cannot love every minute of traveling with three children, three and under -- at least, that's what I think. ) South Dakota was gorgeous. Annie was a beautiful bride. And there were cousins. What more could we want? (Well, maybe just a little less snow.)

We'll share more about our wintry weekend over the next few days! For now, we're settling into California autumn and missing our cousins...

study, study, study

Playing school is a favorite game around the circus. Reading, coloring, counting, writing letters -- anything that might be interpreted as school gets high marks around here.

For example, here's Madeline, "hard at work" with a coloring book.

Even little Indy has been hitting the books. (Of course, the real accomplishment is the sitting, not that we're bragging about him or anything!)

But one member of our family is actually doing school this weekend. Daddy is taking his comprehensive exam in American politics, an important step to finishing (in a few years!) his PhD. His exam started on Friday afternoon at 3pm and won't finish until Monday morning at 9. He's been holed up in his office at school, writing furiously, coming home late at night and leaving early in the morning. Before we arrived at graduate school, I imagined that studying American politics would entail examining policy and strategy and perhaps current events. I was wrong. From what I can tell, it's largely math. Complicated math. Much more complicated than the calculus that befuddled me in high school. And even worse, they write about the math. But somehow Daddy manages the math (probably why he's in charge of finances and tipping in restaurants) and all the rest of it. We know he can do it, but we know he'd appreciate any prayers for endurance, good health (the kids all have colds - again), and mental acuity...

Good luck, Daddy! We love you!

A needed reminder

There's a basket of clean laundry on the floor at my feet, a toppled pile of folded clothes next to it. There are dishes in the sink and toys on the floor and playdough crumbs drying on the kitchen table... but since all three littles are napping (two sweetly sleeping, one just resting) I'm pausing for a break myself, laptop on my lap. I'll get to work in a minute.

I click through my reader to one of my favorite blogs and soak up Ann's words. I see myself in them. They could have been mine, had I taken the time write with such thought and beauty:

I think how I want a crumbless, smudgeless, spotless house, a house with empty laundry baskets, empty sinks, empty garbage cans, with floors like mirrors and mirrors like water, and a pantry lined neat like books in the study and pies lining the counter like sweet children all in a row. I want the (seeming) perfection all day that only happens at night when the whirl slows to a still and the six children sleep, their books and their legos, their papers and their creations, all finding their resting places too. I want a father-in-law who walks in mid-spin and sees what I have done with a day, with a week, and smiles his satisfaction.

I want things seen.

These can be idols.

I've been struggling with this idolatry of late -- the desire to have things looking just so, all orderly and peaceful and right. And perhaps it is because so much of motherhood simply can't be measured that I've found myself focusing on the concrete accomplishments: the house all vacuumed, the packages all sent, the groceries all put away. I run the list of what I've done through my head, rattle it off when I recount my day to Jim. I judge my day against the list. I judge myself against the list. A long list must mean I'm doing my job well. That I'm a good wife and a good mother and keep a good home.

But it doesn't mean that. It doesn't mean that at all.

Because in my haste to reorganize the linen closet or to clean the carpets or to vary our meal-planning or to fight down the laundry, sometimes my littles get left behind. They get a moody, anxious mama who's forgotten what it's really all about. Ann writes:

The product is secondary…. Perhaps even pointless. It’s the prayers, the relationship, the love while doing the work, that hold the meaning, the merit.

I needed that reminder.

I pray that today I'll be here, where I am, doing the work I'm meant to do with love and with patience and with the knowledge that neither my family nor my God wants my self-righteous lists or my perceived accomplishments -- not my meals or my clean laundry or my (one day, hopefully) organized closets. They want so much more: conversation, presence, relationship. They want my heart.

They want me.

You can find Ann's post "priorities: things unseen" here. It's just one example of the reason she's one of my favorite bloggers...

the last light of summer

Even though it's technically autumn, our days have still felt like summer. It's been warm and sunny -- perfect weather for splashing in the pool. But we know that autumn is coming, so we snatched up the chance to enjoy the waning days of summer, joining Daddy for yet another picnic at school last week.

And, where there's Daddy, there's FUN.

So, while Indy lounged in the sunshine...

his sisters and his Daddy had a foot race.

Madeline did her best to keep up. (Two factors contributed to her poky-ness -- her age and those jeans. She's not used to wearing jeans.) She got there eventually. And she didn't seem to mind coming in last.

When they tired of running, they jumped. Off the picnic table. (The sort of fun that makes a Mama gasp. But no one got hurt. Thankfully.)

And eventually running and jumping gave way to spinning. I mean, that's what a Daddy is for, right?

Even Indy joined that fun.

(It occurred to me, belatedly, that you might be concerned that Indy was being spun about by his legs, too. Trust me, while Mama might be able to hold her breath for some picnic table-jumping, she couldn't watch truly crazy spinning with the baby without having a heart attack. Our boy is wrapped tightly in loving arms in this picture, more than happy with a tiny little spin!)

And though we're excited about fall and leaves and pumpkins and apples, we'll miss our summer evenings.

Our Own Superhero

Kathleen attends a dance class, which we've mentioned. Each week the class has a theme, and last week the teachers mentioned that this week's theme would be "Superheroes." Now, these themes aren't really a big deal. We discovered that the hard way -- when I raced home for a dinosaur toy for dinosaur week and then no one else brought a dinosaur at all. (It was a similar story with the beach towel for beach week.) Still, when I heard "Superhero Week," my mind began turning. And because I am a pathological overachiever stupid occasionally oblivious to the fact I have three small children always up for a crafting challenge, I set about planning a costume for Kathleen.

We had everything we needed. (A no cost project! What could be better?) We already had a leotard -- one we were fortunate enough to have received from a cousin. It needed a little something, though. An intial from leftover wool felt, perhaps? Yes, perfect.

It's a bird... it's a plane... it's Super Kathleen!

What else? A superhero needs a cape! When we'd settled on the red leotard I thought we might be able to use some of the yards and yards of patriotic material I have left over from seven years of making patriotic banners for Jim. Kathleen, though, had a different idea. She requested a rainbow cape. Concerned that it might look like she'd left a San Francisco political rally with a flag draped around her neck, I tried to come up with a slightly different sort of rainbow cape. After some negotiation, we settled on stars. (On a blue background. Left over from -- you guessed it -- banner-making.)

Rainbow stars. All of the rainbow, none of the political overtones.

Both of us were delighted with the results! We think she's a natural superhero. Of course, we've always known she would be!

If you're looking for Kathleen, she's out defending truth, justice, and the American way...

Incredible Indy

Little Indiana keeps growing at a truly incredible rate. Our admittedly unscientific weighing (with him and Daddy on the bathroom scale) puts him near twenty pounds already. It feels like we're forever tossing clothes into the "too-small" basket. And clothes aren't the only thing that Indy's been outgrowing. The other day I laid him to play under his play gym in the living room while I mopped the kitchen floor. After a while he began to fuss. I imagined that he was bored and so continued to talk to him while I finished my chores.

I felt more than a bit guilty when I discovered him like this:

He'd pulled the play gym right over on himself! Looks like we'd better add that to the "too small" pile...

Indy has gotten his first two teeth this month -- nice, sharp, shiny ones on the bottom. He has also, it seems, given up sleeping (at least sleeping for nice long stretches at night). We think the two are linked.

Still, though, Indy's a pretty happy little guy. Except when his sisters don't let him play tee ball with them.

Maybe next summer. Until he's more mobile, Indy will have to suffer his sisters' play like this -- all "cozied up" with all the blankets from the downstairs closet.

Although he's not quite mobile enough to escape yet, Indy is pretty mobile for a not-quite-five-month-old. He's mastered the fine art of rolling around. And he's got a funny little scooch, which he executes with his forehead on the ground. In fact, he rolls and scooches so much that we've actually had to buy some (breathable!) bumpers for the crib. The poor little guy kept getting his roly poly legs stuck in the railings!

The mobility's good for more than just getting stuck in a crib, thankfully. Indy's already discovering that he can go where he'd like.

For the past few days, the girls have been entertained with a "fort" under the dining room table, complete with string of paper lanterns. (Everyone's had a pretty miserable cold here, so we're taking fun where we can.) The fort has been wonderful for reading stories, working on puzzles, munching snacks, and all sorts of other play.

Yesterday Indy was lying on the floor while the girls and I cleaned up after a day's worth of play in the fort. We were returning puzzles and play food to their rightful homes when I noticed that Indy was missing. "Girls, what happened to your brother?" I asked.

We found him -- in the fort! He'd rolled and scooched his way inside while we worked.

That Indy is one incredible little guy!

The true story of a Tuesday night

I wrote this on Tuesday night, but I let it sit for a bit before publishing... I wanted to make sure it was really worth "putting it all out there." I think maybe it is.

I was thinking about it the other day and I realized that a casual reader of our blog could conclude that this circus runs pretty smoothly. One might believe that our children are well-behaved and articulate, that we parent with calm confidence, that our home is always neat and tidy. In short, one might be laboring under the illusion that I actually know what I'm doing.

Friends, I have one thing to say about that:

It couldn't be further from the truth.

In the interest of authenticity, I offer up the tale of this evening. Jim is in the city for a "welcoming the new PhD students" event, so I'm at home with the kids alone. I ask the girls what they want for dinner, and Madeline pipes up, "Mac cheese!" So, instead of cooking a real dinner, I break out a box of Annie's macaroni and cheese.

I sit the girls at their little table with their macaroni and cheese. (And some fruits and veggies, to assuage my mommy guilt. We did have some good bonding in the kitchen while the pasta cooked, though, eating sugar snap peas, carrots, mini bell peppers and hummus right out of the containers. I thought: these are definitely my kids.) While they eat, I call my sister and light the grill.

My sister and I are commiserating about teething infants when I put two chicken apple sausages on the grill and realize that Indy's been sleeping for quite some time. This third nap is supposed to be short -- like 45 minutes -- but he's been sleeping for well over an hour and a half. In the interest and hope of sleeping tonight, I dash upstairs and wake him.

I bring him downstairs and feed him quickly. The girls are still eating, though they need to be reminded to stay at the table more than once. I'm still talking to my sister as I plunk Indy into his Bumbo and clear the girls' dinner plates.

It's at this point that I remember I was going to feed them some protein and dash out to get the sausage. It's completely charred. I know I won't be able to convince the girls to eat it, so I toss one. Feeling guilty, I eat the other while I'm still standing in the kitchen. I think I read somewhere that charcoal's good for your digestive system. I hope that's true, because that's about all the sausage had to recommend it.

Kathleen reminds me that we bought chocolate ice cream at Trader Joe's today, and so I dish up some ice cream for the girls. I don't partake myself -- I'm feeling virtuous (read: concerned about wearing a bridesmaid's dress in three and a half weeks) and I'm looking forward to snacking on some tangy plain frozen yogurt and a few almonds once the kids are in bed. As I deliver the ice cream to the little table, Indy begins to fuss a bit. I assume that he's getting a bit bored of the "Kathleen and Madeline eating" show and transfer him to the exersaucer.

I return to the kitchen to put away the ice cream, sacrificing my virtue and my waistline for a couple spoonfuls of chocolatey goodness -- right from the container. Still chatting with my sister, I'm leaning against the counter and licking the spoon when I look down and realize that the front of my shirt is covered (covered) with a thick layer of baby poop.

Somehow I moved my four month old without even realizing he'd had an enormous diaper blowout. (All that reading about intentional parenting is really paying off, isn't?) There's a mess on my shirt, a mess in the Bumbo, and a mess in the exersaucer. And my sweet little boy? He's a wreck, but he's not even complaining.

I relay this news to my sister, concluding with, "So, I'm gonna go." She doesn't manage to stop laughing before I hang up. Just then, the girls announce that they are finished with ice cream. They are.

Photos of chocolate ice cream seemed worthwhile. Indy's diaper blowout? Not so much.

So am I.

I toss my slimy shirt onto the laundry pile on the washer and hustle everyone upstairs (after taking the pictures and not before Madeline manages to put her chocolate-y hands all over everything) and into the bath. Well, the girls go into the bathtub. Indy lies on a towel next to the sink while I lather him up with one of those environmentally irresponsible but seductively convenient disposable washcloths. When he's good and soapy, I rinse him in the tub with the girls. Once he's rinsed and dried and pajama-ed, I lie him in the hallway where he can see us and proceed to clean the girls. Poor Indy screams bloody murder the entire time: all through the washing and shampoo and rinsing and drying and lotioning and dressing.

When I do finally pick him up, he's not much comforted. We head downstairs anyway and make our way through two stories. Indy fusses on and off during the reading. His crying is briefly eclipsed by Madeline, who tripped over a mess of toys and into her little chair, but she recovers. I explain to the girls that I'm putting Indy to bed (they're to be quiet and to stay downstairs) and escape upstairs to settle the baby.

He's exhausted, so he quiets pretty quickly. But he startles when I'm forced to come to the landing to remind Madeline to be quiet (she's wailing about some perceived injustice which Kathleen denies). I've gotten him nice and calm and drowsy and am laying him in the crib when Kathleen flies into the room with a cut that requires a band-aid immediately.

I glare and back out of the room, hoping he'll still go to sleep. By the time I get downstairs and apply a band-aid to Kathleen's finger, it's clear that he's not sleeping. But at this point there's not much I can do for him, so he's left to fuss while I try to get the girls to bed.

We manage the normal bedtime routine -- with a detour for yet another band-aid for Kathleen's finger. I leave the girls and finally settle poor Indy. It's not until I'm making the bed in my room (with the sheets that should have been washed yesterday but were only washed today) that I realize I've completely forgotten to brush the girls' teeth. And I've never replaced the shirt that I left on the laundry pile. I've done all this in shorts and a jogging bra.

It's not my best night. Obviously. But there you have it: real life at the circus.

Now that I'm decently clad and everything's been picked up and the trash has been taken out, I'm thinking about that frozen yogurt.

But maybe I'll trade it in for a glass of cheap red wine.

Or maybe I'll just have both.

Scenes from the Circus: Overheard

Madeline, sitting on the potty before nap time, is reading her birthday card from her grandparents. She calls it a book and she insists on reading it to me. Herself.

"Read story, Mama? Read story?"

"Please," I respond, "please read it for me, Madeline."

She smiles and then recites rapid-fire, "Pretty flowers, doggie, ever, ever, ever!" With barely a breath, she says, "Again?"

And without waiting for an answer, she reads it again. "Pretty flowers, doggie, ever, ever, ever!"

"Again?"

And though I really, truly wanted to get her into her crib for naptime, I have to admit that I let her read the card five more times, just to hear "ever, ever, ever!"

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

The girls still want a dog. Badly.

Yesterday while riding in the car Kathleen told her Nan that she was getting a dog soon, and that she'd take it for walks. And feed it. And name it Lady.

I merely raised my eyebrows.

When they're not using the power of positive thinking to get themselves a dog, the girls seem to enjoy pretending that one or the other of them is, in fact, a dog. They call each other "Puppy." Madeline in particular will breeze through a room, asking, "Puppy? Where my puppy go?"

A few mornings ago the girls were playing in the backyard while I did chores in the house. I could see and hear them through the big living room window. At one point I looked up and saw Madeline trotting across the lawn with a frisbee hanging from her mouth.

"That's right, Puppy!" Kathleen called, "Bring it here, Puppy!"

Madeline ran right to her. Kathleen took the frisbee, patted Madeline's head, and then tossed the frisbee across the yard. Madeline took off after it.

Fetch. My daughters were playing fetch.

Maybe we do need a dog.

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Kathleen and Indy have just woken from their naps. I'm on the sofa nursing the baby while Kathleen dances in the middle of the living room. She stops abruptly and announces, "I would like to move where we live again."

"Really?" I ask, "You mean like where we'd pack everything in boxes and leave this house and go someplace different? And live in new house, in a new place?"

She nods.

I'm surprised. When the post had been full of moving trucks earlier this summer, Kathleen had seemed concerned that we'd need to move again. I'd begun to worry about the drawbacks of being a transient Army brat. But maybe I don't need to. I'm curious about her train of thought.

"Where would you like to move this time?"

"Where they have monkeys!" She beams as she answers.

I look at her quizzically. "You mean the zoo? You'd like to live at the zoo?"

"No, Mama," she replies, drawing the first word into two lengthy syllables. "Not the zoo! Where they have monkeys!"

I'm not any less confused.

"It's so wonderful! It's so great!" She punctuates her proclamations with little hops, waving her arms for emphasis. She must sense my confusion because she continues, "Would you like to see?"

I nod and she runs to the end table and hands me this photograph.

Apparently our daughter wants to move to Gibraltar.

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I'm on the sofa nursing the baby. (Again.) Kathleen and Madeline are pushing the doll stroller across the living room, laden with every toy purse they own. Each purse is stuffed to the gills with, well, stuff -- wooden food, lacing beads, bristle blocks, and who knows what else.

Kathleen looks up and notices me watching her.

"We're going to China," she announces. "See you later."

"Really?" I respond, interested in this new game, "What's in China?"

"Food." She says it as though it's obvious -- as though that's why everyone travels to China.

"Well, I suppose that's true," I concede. "What kind of food?"

Without hesitating, Kathleen answers, "Sticky rice. My child named Madeline needs sticky rice. So, we're going to China. Bye."

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The baby's diaper is dirty. And I'm too lazy to carry him upstairs to change a diaper that I'll just carry downstairs to throw out, so I'm changing him on a makeshift changing station on the living room floor.

As I lay the little one on the changing mat, Madeline races to get the diaper and the wipes for me. She's quiet as I clean him up, but when I transfer Indy from the dirty diaper to the clean one, her eyes fly open and she starts jumping up and down.

"Mama! Mama!" she yells, "Indiana has a tail! Indiana has a tail!"

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