Got gas?

A gas shortage. I have never experienced this anywhere--when there was a gas shortage in Arizona five years ago, we were just moving from Utah and experienced it second-hand (my in-laws met us to help drive the rental truck and my brother-in-law and his wife, who drove them up, took all the family's gas containers to Flagstaff to fill up since there was no gas in Mesa).

Since we don't really have the news, I didn't know that there was a shortage until at book group on Tuesday night, one of the women explained that she had to stop on the way to the meet her husband in the ER to get gas and it took three gas stations to get one with gas. The next morning, on my way back from the doctors, I passed seven gas stations without gas before I found one that still had gas--and the line was only five cars long. I was lucky. Since then the lines have regularly been at least 10 cars long (and there are at least two lines at every gas station--one coming off every entrance--and lines behind each pump). And I overheard some women (who obviously have the news) discussing that we won't have gas for another two weeks.

Who knows how long this will last. Until then, I'm only driving to preschool and church. So, feel free to call anytime. I'll be home.

Cooking Kids

I taught the oldest boy's preschool this week. My assigned topics were B and 2, so on the first day we made bat puppets and read books about bats, birds, and blueberries. On the seconds day each of the children came with something they could do becuase they were big and not babies: jumping, gymnastics, brushing teeth, running, etc. Because they were big, we also decided to make cookies. So here are the little bakers in their aprons before they started mixing.

The Shiner

The oldest pegged his younger brother in the eye with a wooden crane. (This just a few days after he had done the same thing and left a cut under his brother's eye. There were many other thrown toys in between the two injuries.) The older brother (and the crane) were on time out.

I'm a big kid now . . .

I've been trying to catch this on video for a while, but every time I pull the camera out, the youngest decides what I'm doing with the camera is more intersting than what he was doing before. So yesterday I was super sneaky. I kept pulling him back across the room with Chewy le Bon (the front loader) and letting him walk across the floor while I got the camera set up. But then I noticed that he isn't just walking with Chewy le Bon, he also pushes the step stool his grandparents sent and buckets. He cruises along the couch, the coffee table, the keyboard stand.

I'm not 100% sure if I'm ready for him to be walking. I mean, he is only 10 months and he did just barely get the hang of eating real food (including baby food) and he just barely cutting his first tooth and he is still in 3–6 month clothes (with some 6–9 month clothes thrown in on the side) and he still wakes up twice a night to nurse and . . . I guess he is just growing up.

"I can dress myself!"

Camouflage hat; neon green shirt; brown and red plaid shorts; orange pink, and yellow striped socks: oh to be three and pick out whatever you want to wear, regardless of fashion. In this case, our oldest actually put on his shirt himself while I was digging through the shirt drawer to try and find something that would be approved and would match more. It was the first time he had done it all himself.

First Day of Preschool

Our oldest boy started preschool yesterday. A few friends and I got together to do a coop preschool to help our children do better at listening to other adults and have a little more structure in their playtime. It is two days a week (Monday and Wednesday). It was great. I didn't get to use the time yesterday for my dissertation, or prospectus, but he came home so excited. They had talked about astronomy and made spaceships. In the car on the way home, he told me all about spaceships and astronauts and planets and stars and bumpy rocks (I think these are supposed to be asteroids). Today we took my husband to his office, which just happens to be in an observatory, and the oldest loved looking at the pictures of the planets and stars and the moon. "I've never seen that," he kept saying.

I will be teaching next week, so we'll see how the five children do with books and being big (our themes to go with the letter B and number 2).

Where's Pangloss when you need him

Those who keep up on our family know my wife is the real blogger. I think this might be the first time I've wandered into the blogosphere. But, since I missed my shuttle and have some spare time on my hands, I thought I'd add a post of my own.
I've recently taken up playing racquetball with a friend after a long absence from the sport. I'd like to say it's just for the exercise or the company or because it's fun and gives me a break from writing my dissertation, but I can't. Oh sure, it might have started off with all those good intentions, but something interesting happened along the way: I started caring about wins and losses. It's particularly irksome that I happen to be more accomplished in the latter. (I've won only 3 of 9 or so matches.)
Yes, a lot has happened since my sojourns to Hawthorne Elementary (ostensibly for ELP-- extended learning program) where my two friends and I dominated the local playground football scene over the awe-inspired locals. Or my reign as king of Tackle Town (~British Bulldog) at Wednesday night mutuals.
Somewhere along my way to 30 (I'm rounding here, folks), I'm not sure where, I became average. Is there anything more disillusioning than mediocrity!? I've tried to console myself by saying my mediocrity only applies to things physical, that some people are burdened with it as the single most fundamental fact of their existence. It's not working.
So unbeknownst to my yes-I've-been-playing-more-regularly-than-you-but-I'm-still-kicking-your-butt partner, I decided to procure some training on the side. My secret was safe until my wife, with all the innocent intentions of a saintly woman, spilled the beans. It happened when they (my partner and his wife) were dropping off their shop-vac (our oldest had redecorated the patio with a layer of sand). I came out to give a hand amidst their chorus of chuckles. I naively smiled. What gaiety is this, I wondered. When I learned of the reason for their merriment, the strains of their chorus struck my ears as a cacophony of chortles. And not just my ears, my ego desperately tried to block out the noise. I sat there stunned, forcibly faking a smile.
--Youtube, huh? --my partner wondered. --You're watching Youtube clips for pointers?
I was emasculated. Silently I dragged the borrowed shop vac back inside. (A real man no doubt would have been able to buy his own.) Somewhere between the the parking lot and the front door my manliness slithered away in shame.

Since then I've learned a lot about forgiveness...and patience...and long-suffering...and love unfeigned...and the marginal value of Youtube clips as training modules...and...what the...
#@$% it, I missed my shuttle again.
...hmmm, maybe Youtube has some new clips.