And the moral would be...

It seems fitting, with my inability to write with any sort of frequency, that I should assume I won't have much time for this blog entry and just skip right to the end. And so: the moral of the story is "don't overly plan, don't wait for events worthy of words, just write!"

It's been something like two months and my plan of a couple of blogs per week seems so laughable that I'm almost too embarrassed to articulate it here. It isn't for lack of thought. I've planned witty entries, honest entries, worked on gimicky names for my family, addressed issues, current events...And so, where is it. Lost in the infinite nether regions of my mommy-induced brain fog. That isn't to say that my kids are such trials that my brain isn't all it should be. Rather, I just feel that I'm not quite as sharp, organized or intellectual as I was back in those pre-child days. But, I'm so many other things that I wasn't before, that I'm quite happy to trade. After all, I don't mind my not-too-sharp self too terribly, and those around me seem able to cope with my slightly fuzzy self.

Anyway, with excuses addressed, the moral tended to right up front, I'd best plunge on. After all, the littlest one in the house had to be dosed with teething tablets (homeopathic) and constantly distracted with items from my desk to keep her happy (she's at elbow's reach in her high chair). I offered the dubious bribe of Sponge Bob to the older two but they were bored of that within 5 minutes and are raiding the china cabinet for porcelain dishes to stage a tea party with "real" tea (an herbal mint blend).

We've had a busy week. Typical in many ways, with a couple of new events thrown in. We hit the park in usual fashion for a few hours on both Monday and Tuesday. Fionna was at school but Grady and Ainslie and I hung out at the park. That means there was much bike riding, sliding, climbing, chasing of birds, hunting for acorns, and squabbling of children. In the baby department, it doesn't call for much of a change in agenda. Babies at the park are held, play on blankies, worn in slings/wraps and nursed. Well, to be absolutely accurate, let me insert the word nursed between all those activities and you'll have a truer picture.

(Okay, better hurry through the week, the tea party is descending into dissent...)

Tuesday afternoon is Kindermusik time. Fionna and Grady both have classes, both with friends. It takes up a good couple of hours between classes being slightly staggered and lots of play time before, after and between.

Wednesday morning was spent somewhat atypically, with friends at Kindermusik again. We were doing a makeup class (after an absence) and they were trying out the next level of class, which Grady is already taking. We lunched together as well, a treat for all involved.

Wednesday evening is a big weekly event for our family, well, the kids and I. (You may have noticed dh doesn't really figure much in our daily plans. I can sum up his daily events in a word: work.) Okay, Wednesday is Community Dinner, a potluck event with friends at a local park. Better than just friends and good food, I think it's a constant symbol of how we've all committed ourselves to taking care of our earth, even in little ways. So, for our circle, this means Wednesdays with no disposable utensils or plates; everyone brings from home and re-washes for the subsequent week. The food is largely vegetarian, although not by design necessarily. It's certainly eclectic oftentimes and, I think, is safely described as healthy to the most part. It occurs to me that my description of Community Night probably isn't at all what my kids would say. Their description might go something like this: "Running, yelling, riding our bikes, peeing/watering the trees, friends, fun." This is an averaged-out description. Fionna's would be more wordy, Grady's perhaps less. Anyway, suffice it to say, it's a favorite occasion of the week typically.

And now we arrive at why, although I may be a little fuzzy, I can still claim sharp mommy instincts. Meaning, it was good to start at the end because the tea party is taking on a Boston-tea-partyish-air and the baby is no longer amused with random "toys."

Until next time...