I am going to be catching up on posts today....

...because yesterday my dishwasher broke. We've been under some funny kind of cloud the past few months: our computer died, then my laptop died (although that's what I'm on now, it suddenly resurrected out of the blue- about a week after we took the plunge and bought a new computer, of course), our microwave died, Chris' car broke down, his phone went dead, the mailbox door fell off, the fence in front of our house blew down, the Xbox blew up, the vacuum stopped sucking (or started sucking, depending on how you look at it,) our regular phone only works in three minute increments before needed to be recharged now, and my cell phone is acting very wonky. We can't fix any of this, either, because...well, because sometimes God likes to show you that it is possible to live much more simply than you're used to.

The dishwasher, though! *sob*

So I'm going to spend some time here, studiously ignoring the fact that my life is about to revolve around my kitchen sink, and the greasy things therein. And while I procrastinate, I am going to be saying to myself, over and over again, "People survived for thousands of years even though they had to wash all their dishes by hand. A dishwasher is not a necessity for life. Really. It can be done. It can be done. It can be done."

Dilemma

What to do when you are a native of Pittsburgh, living in Baltimore and married to an obsessive Ravens' fan?

The thing is, I watch football because my husband watches football. Growing up, in a house that was absolutely dominated by estrogen, I almost never laid eyes on a game. I have a vague memory of watching a Superbowl with my parents, where I was very excited to be allowed to eat dinner in the basement. Later in life, my stepfather would watch the games.......alone, and we would laugh whenever we'd hear him yelling at the t.v. I think I maybe watched a game at my aunt's house occasionally, but the truth is that I was there more for the food and company than anything else. I am a Pittsburgher, though, and the combination of black and gold never fails to stir something deep in my heart.

Now, though, in order to avoid becoming a football widow, I watch it all. the. time. I know the names of a few players on every single team, and I long ago committed to memory the fact that scoring is called a "touchdown", not a "goal," or a "hey, they got some points - how many points is a whatcha'ma callit, again?" I listen to PTI and SportsCenter, and know what to expect from those guys. (Mostly predictions that are almost always wrong, but why should that stop anybody from tuning in to their t.v. shows, radio programs and magazine columns to catch every precious - and almost always wrong- word that comes out of their constantly running mouths?) Chris cares deeply about football. Deeply. And because I love him, I care a little bit now, too. Granted, back in the day, I couldn't see why he was so elated to discover that football player who lived almost-next to us, but now I can think back and say, "Wow! Ed Reed was our neighbor! Pretty cool!"

All that is to say - when the stakes are high and the Steelers are playing the Ravens, who do I root for? Well, what sort of choice do I have, really? The biggest football nut that I've ever known happens to be married to me, happens to be the love of my life, and happens to be my best friend. I root for the Ravens. But the Pittsburgher in me (and there are some places that leave its mark in your soul, no matter where you go or what you do: Pittsburgh is without question one of those places) is sad that I have to make a choice.

So, now that the game is decided and it's all over: Go Steelers! And looking at the above picture made me homesick for the days when I would have been there, wearing something black and gold and munching on chips while laughing at whatever jokes were being thrown around. The funny thing is, though, that I wouldn't have cared so much about who won then; it's not the team I miss, it's the company.

Hi. Still alive, believe it or not

Our computer died in October. Two long months followed where our only access to the internet consisted of squinting down at Chris' iphone and cursing every five seconds whenever we inevitably hit a rogue link and had to waaaait for the page to load and then waaaait for it to re-load back onto the page we had never wanted to leave in the first place.

Our shiny (more or less) new (well, new to us) computer just arrived, though, and I feel like Moses staring down at the parted red sea. It seems like such a miracle, this whole information superhighway thing. How did we live without this? How am I supposed to find the time to do boring, mundane things like cleaning when I have all this power right at my fingertips. Wow. Hello world! It's good to be back.

It has been so long since the last update that I am just going give a quick review of the past few months:

* Jasper chewed a hole through the wall. Twice. Thanks to my wonderful father in law for coming down (on his birthday, no less) to fix it the first time. I'm very sorry that it didn't last.

* A terrible flu rampaged through the house. Christmas was almost cancelled.

* In the midst of her fever-induced delirium Abbie told Chris that, "The Steelers are evil! They don't like Santa, and they burn down churches where baby Jesus lives." That's a direct quote.

*Lucy has started to talk more coherently. We now know for certain when she wants us to "Go away!" and when she would like a bite of nourishment, please: "Eat!"

* Katie read the kid-version of "Marley and Me" and fell in love with Jasper for about two hours. Then jumped over the couch (which she was sitting on) and she went back to barely tolerating him.

* Beth's two front teeth were slightly wiggly, and she spent a solid week trying to loosen them more before finally insisting that Chris pull them out. After the first tug, as blood began to gush over her chin, he realized that it was really too soon. They had gone too far to stop, though, so Chris basically performed a minor surgery in our living room. Beth was just happy that she could finally sing All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth and really mean it.

*One week later, two more of Beth's teeth fell out without warning. She now looks like a 90 year old woman when she smiles.

*Claire came into our room the other night after having a nightmare. She snuck in too quietly, however, and all I heard was a tiny rustle as she stepped over some wrapping paper on the floor. I shot up in my bed and tried to see, but it was too dark. Claire froze. "Who is it?" I cried out, still half asleep, "Is someone there?" There was silence, but you know how you can just tell when someone is there? I woke up all the way, and called out again, "Is someone in here?" There was not a sound - not a single sound - but then suddenly a hand grabbed my arm.

I screamed. It was dark, and I was half asleep, and I was freaked out, okay. I know it's still pathetic, but.....I screamed. And then Claire screamed and burst into tears. You know all those horror movies with creepy kids sneaking around all over the place? That is just my everyday life around here.

I think that's enough for now. I'll put up some pictures later. Maybe. If I can figure out how to get to them (on my laptop, which is broken and can't connect to the internet) from here.

Katie brought her school journal home today

Here are my two favorite entries. This kid is the sweetest!

A role model for me is my Dad. My Dad is my role model because when I'm confused he shows me tricks to help me understand what I'm confused about. When I'm stressed and tired and sad my Dad shows me the bright side. Sometimes there is something a really want to accomplish and my Dad helps me get it done like my speech for an example. My Dad is always nice and never lets me feel left out. Dad is always doing nice things for us like I used to hate hamburgers but my Dad never gave up and now I love hamburgers. To me my Dad is the perfect role model.

Another one:

The greatest thing in my life is my family. I think my family is the greatest thing in my life because I can depend on them. My Mom always makes me dinner so I don't starve. My Dad makes sure I'm not confused with what I'm learning in school. My sisters always play with me. My dog (Jasper) makes me feel better just by his looks. I love my family.

Oh Dear.

What in the world am I supposed to do with this?

Oh, and the field trip?

Totally awesome! I think I ran my station fairly well. There was that one time when I screwed the fire up and and had to do my entire presentation while we were all weeping from the smoke, but once the kids and I staggered outside to get some fresh air we all recovered just fine.

What I can't decide is whether my favorite part of the day was when they brought out a gigantic vulture (named Upchuck. Here's some trivia for you: a vulture's first line of defense is to puke on whoever is threatening it.) and then left it hanging out on a branch mere inches from a cluster of rambunctious boys, or if it was when the guy in charge told the kids in my group that they couldn't sit because, "Indians aren't lazy like you!"

I can't wait to do this again in two years, when it is Beth's turn.

Places that really make me...

...long for the day when Lucy will be able to ask for a drink like a civilized person instead of calling all beverages, "juice," mispronouncing it, and so screeching at the top of her lungs, "JEW! JEEWW!!!" until I can plug her mouth shut with a sippy cup:





*Waiting in the exam room of our beloved pediatrician, Dr. Israel.


*The Communion line in Church

*Waiting in the parking lot across the street from the girls' school - which is also the parking lot for a Temple.

*Shopping at places where there are lots of people who dress like this:

One thing is for certain: we will not be visiting the Holocast Museum in DC anytime soon.

Field Trip Queen

Chris suddenly found himself with lots of free time on his hands this September, and I have been taking advantage of that by volunteering for everything possible at the girls' school. I'm making up for lost time over the past two years, when I couldn't really volunteer for anything due to a lack of available babysitters. (This is another great advantage - should Chris suddenly become bereft of his free time, I now have two wonderfully accommodating Grandparents at hand to help out!) Everybody knows that to really know what's going on in school, you have to be there, and it has bugged me to no end when that couldn't happen for me. Well, I'm there now and learning all sorts of interesting things.

This months is extra-intense, though, because I am going on not one, not two, but three field trips. The first was to a local farm with the kindergarten (lots of fun), the third will be to the aquarium with the second grade (I did that before with Katie, and am looking forward to it again with Beth.) The second one is tomorrow, and it is the doozy of the bunch. I'm not going to elaborate any more right now than to say that it is an Indian campground, and it is run by the most awesomely crazy person I've ever met. He's awesome. But truly crazy. I am running the "Legend and Fire" hut, I will be facing the fourth graders armed with puppets....and fire, and let me tell you: this is going to be an experience.

Stay tuned.

Spaghetti with chicken

Is there anything more gratifying than spending over two hours* cooking a dinner tailored specifically to your children's tastes and then watching your three year old hold her nose and gag when you serve it?

Humility: served daily in the Mlinek household.

*It should take 30 minutes. I was only able to do actual prep and cooking in five minute spurts, however, due to milk spills, garbage-dumping, homework emergencies, argument interventions, and toddlers determined to drink out of the dog's bowl. Whenever I make a truly time-intensive dinner I generally have to start it directly after breakfast.

We bring joy into the world

At least that is what I am going to assume, as no less than 4 individuals burst into laughter at the sight of the girls and me navigating hardware stores. We were, perhaps, not exactly in our element. But I'm going to assume those people were all just very joyful.

However, I'm excluding the cashier at WalMart who later literally yelled, "Oh, holy God!" when I affirmed that the girls were, in fact, all mine. That was a first for me, and I wasn't quite sure how to answer her. I think I just gave one of my standard replies, even though it didn't exactly match her remarks. (I said something like, "It's a lot of fun!" Lucy was sick to death of shopping and getting fussy and I was really off my guard: the cashier was going on and on about how terrible it must be, and I just couldn't think of anything better. ) I'm not exactly angry - she was just a stupid teenager running off at the mouth without thinking first - but I do wish it hadn't happened in front of Katie and Beth. They definitely noticed her horrified reaction.

It doesn't usually bother me when people express disapproval of our family size. I think I hit my breaking point somewhere after Claire, and I just don't care anymore. The funny thing is that I get fewer negative comments now, when we have five kids and I don't give a damn what anybody thinks, than I did when I only had three and was kinda sensitive. It did bother me to see the older girls so surprised, though. But only a little. We may be following a different drummer than much of the world, but you know what? I like our tune. It doesn't matter so much when some twit at the register doesn't get it. I was worried that Katie and Beth might be upset, but they weren't at all. They like our tune, too. What's ironic is that I feel like I've been trying to say with my life the exact same thing the cashier was saying. I'm not going to act like I've been successful, but I'm trying. The inflection is totally different, of course, but we're absolutely trying to say the exact same thing: Oh Holy God.

Ramblings

Lucy is 17 months old, an age that I have been waiting for, thinking about in the back of my mind, since her birth. This was Abbie's age when her tumor was diagnosed.

Abbie at 17 months
Lucy is absolutely healthy, and I have no (and have never had) any cause for concern. Brain tumors are not genetic. But I figured that I would breathe a sigh of relief anyway, once she'd passed that milestone without showing any worrying signs. And I do feel better, a bit relieved, but it has also been strange to watch her. I can't help but mentally compare the baby that Lucy is with the baby that Abbie was. I watch Lucy and I think - Lucy can do this, and Abbie couldn't. Abbie could say this, but Lucy doesn't need to.

This isn't to say that I am obsessing over this, or anything. I don't dwell much on Abbie's ordeal, or at least I make a conscious effort not to. This is the sort of thing that a person can get bogged down in forever, and I don't want that to happen. Abbie is healthy, and thriving, and hilariously quirky and I want to be able to fully appreciate her. If I can't let go of the past's hardships, I can't give the present's joys their due. I have four other daughters as well, all of whom have been fearfully and wonderfully made, and I want to fully appreciate them. As Mother Theresa said: The past is gone. The future is not yet here. We have only today. Let us begin. Sounds right to me.

Lucy at 17 months
I'm going to tell you about Thursday, however, and why this period has been a little...unsettling, I guess, is the best way to put it. I was cleaning Lucy up after her breakfast, and she was resisting me. There were little flakes of oatmeal stuck under chin, and to prevent me from reaching them Lucy craned her neck down, so that her chin touched her chest. I was simply in the moment, trying to clean up this psycho baby, when Lucy looked up at me with her chin still lowered. I'm not sure I can really even explain what happened. I was no longer in our house, looking down on stubborn little Lucy; I was standing in my townhouse looking down on Abbie, and thinking, "What in the world is wrong with this baby's neck?" It wasn't that I remembered the fear, and worry, and heartbreak of that time. For that split second, I was there, feeling it.

This lasted no more than a second. I shook myself, finished cleaning Lucy up and got the girls ready for school. I barely thought about it again that day. Chris took the younger girls up to visit his parents, so I had the morning free to run errands, and then I volunteered in Claire's class all afternoon. It was a good day.

That evening, Chris and I settled in to watch the VP debate. We're both feeling pretty bitter and jaded about politics these days, so we were mainly making snarky comments to each other, or expressing frustration with this non-answer, that smoke-screen. But when Biden began talking about losing his wife and daughter, and he choked up for a moment Chris turned to me, just in time to see me burst into tears. I cried through the rest of the debate. I couldn't even really tell you why.

So, there. I haven't bothered to even analyze why I wanted to put this on the blog. I know that I wanted to acknowledge, in some way, that - hey! - Lucy made it to 17 months and things are looking good. And I guess in some way, too, I'd like to say : We hope the worst is over, and everyone is doing really well. But, you know what? It was all really, really hard. Please don't stop praying for my family.

Chris' Masterful Mojitos + Rock Band=

More fun than you should probably have on a Tuesday night.

But, man! It was fun. I am telling you people, if you don't have Rock Band yet go get it! It's fun for the whole family, it's fun to force your guests to play along, and it is a fun, fun, fun way to remind yourself - after a day changing diapers, arguing with tiny people incapable of seeing reason, cleaning crumbs off of the floor - that yes you could have been a rockstar. You are a rockstar!

That's all. I just felt the need the share.

First fire of Fall!

How's that for alliteration?

There are two seasons that always find the Mlinek family obsessed with fire. We love our cozy, warm, crackling fireplace in the winter, and we go crazy over our (admittedly, very primitive) fire pit in the fall.

The fire department behind our house was holding a bluegrass festival last Friday and the day was cool and crisp, so we hauled some logs down the hill and roasted ourselves some hot dogs (and apples, and marshmallows) for dinner. The music from the festival was fun, although the girls really enjoyed the s'mores more. We'll do this quite a few times before it gets too cold, but last weekend was just magical. It was the first fire of the season, and just so much fun.

Roasted marshmallows and sandboxes, however, mix just as badly as you'd think they would:

Better late than never, right?

Here are the pics from the girls' first day of school.

So far, this year has been going well! I was the most concerned about my little Larry, but she has taken to kindergarten like a fish to water (or like herself to water!)

At one point during the summer, Claire came over to me and exclaimed (does she ever say anything that isn't an exclamation?) "I cannot wait to start school....well, except for the learning part."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, sums up nicely why I worried about this year.

Of all the girls, Claire definitely has the least amount of patience, and I was concerned that all that sitting-still and listening-to-directions stuff would be hard, hard, hard on this impulsive little thing. But she is so very happy to finally be a 'big girl,' to finally be in school like her sisters, that she's turned the full force of her energies into being the best kindergartner possible.

There's a lesson in here somewhere about channeling our talents (Claire=energy) into whatever tasks life gives to us, even if those tasks aren't exactly up our alleys. Lucy is crying upstairs, however (I should not have told my friend yesterday that she is a good sleeper. This is your fault, Monica, for goading me into saying it!!!) and I need to cut this short. Long story short - I'm pretty darn proud of Claire. She brings this intense little jolt of happiness into our lives that I am so grateful for. And she has layers of abilities that constantly surprise me. All of the girls do, but today I'm particularly lookin' at my brown-haired moppet, and that bright eyed little thing is making me smile.

A first for me

It has taken me almost 9 years and five children for this to happen, and it was every bit as unenjoyable as I imagined.

I had to call poison control.

Yes, you guessed which child occasioned it.

The funny thing is that earlier in the day I was talking to my mom on the phone, and mentioned that we have been spending most of our time outdoors because Lucy gets into less mischief there. Not ten minutes later I was desperately trying to pry a bright red berry out of her mouth. I did not succeed, and she swallowed it with a shudder.

The good news is that the berry was only a little bit poisonous. Lucy will hopefully wake up from her nap fully revived. The bad news, of course, is that I have no safe place in which to seek refuge from her tyranny. Oh Lord, please give me the grace to guide this child (relatively) safely through her childhood; well, that or a padded cell.

It must be nice to have no inhibitions

Abbie was playing in the kitchen while I was clearing the table after lunch. All of a sudden she stood up, headed for the bathroom, and declared, "This girl has got to poop!"

My back wasn't even turned

I made a major mistake this afternoon: I gave my full attention to the pan I was washing. I know, I know. I should have known better. I should have kept my head in the game. I should have bolted every cabinet in this joint closed before turning my face to the sink.



Here's what happened in the time it took me to wash one (small!) pan:

Flour. Everywhere. We've seen this before, haven't we? But now we have a dog. In the initial scuffle, Jasper's water bowl was up dumped, turning the flour on his paws and nose into glue.

I'm not even going to talk about the floor. The kicker, though, was that after I had scolded Lucy thoroughly, cleaned up the mess in the house, placed the remaining flour into a plastic bag and knotted it shut, and then taken the dog outside to beat the flour out of him as though he was a dusty carpet....after I had done all of these things, I came back into the house to find this:

She did it again.

As it turns out, pastry flour glues up just as easily as regular flour. I guess that's useful information to have. However, if you happen to be seized with a sudden desire to bake while at my house, be prepared to add an additional 20 minutes into your prep time to access the now heavily guarded flour. And pray for me.

complete surrender

Yesterday was a perfect day to live in a house full of girls: TCM was running a Katherine Hepburn marathon. A couple of the girls wandered into my room while I was folding laundry during Bringing up Baby, and they were immediately hooked. Katie and Beth in particular loved it, so we decided to tape A Philadelphia Story* and I let them stay up late last night to watch it with me. Chris stayed in the basement for all of five minutes after we started the movie, when he loudly declared that he couldn't take it and was going upstairs to watch football.



I love it when he tries to assert masculinity in the face of all the pink-fluffiness of this place.



So, fast forward to this morning. It has been chilly here the past few days, and although the weather is warmer today the water in the pool is pretty chilly. Chris and I were discussing just how cold it might be, and whether it would be worth it to swim this afternoon. (I am notoriously wimpy when it comes to cold water.)



"It's going to be pretty chilly, "he said,"so you might want to start getting in the pool now so that you're finally used to the water by the time we girls get in."


He stopped and looked at me, but it was too late. "The girls and I!" he said, "I meant the girls and I."



I probably laughed for five full minutes. And while swimming this afternoon (it was very cold), I couldn't help but giggle from time to time. He tries, God bless him, but this boy has no chance. No chance. All the football in the world can only do so much against the tide of estrogen washing over us every day.

*As it turns out, A Philadelphia Story is way racier than you might think. We ended up turning it off.

Are you wondering why I haven't been updating lately?

Here's why:

Lucy climbed up on a kitchen chair and then tipped it backwards onto the floor, barely escaping breaking her neck. She then climbed back up onto the table and dumped a cup of milk onto the floor. Then she crawled into the dog's crate, ate a handful of his food and started to gag. After holding her over the sink (in case she puked) for a few minutes, she immediately went back into the crate and grabbed yet another handful of dog food. When I took it away from her, she bit me on the arm. When she was done crying (ahem), she climbed onto a bench and tried to push a box of wine bottles that we've been too lazy to recycle onto the floor. Luckily, it was too heavy and I had time to intercept. I set her back onto the floor, and she ran to the drawers where I keep bills and dumped the entire thing onto the floor. The dog was delirious with joy and immediately began to shred the paper. As I was picking up the bills, Lucy opened a cabinet door and dumped a bag of dog treats on the floor. (You can see why Jasper is so fond of her.) As I was cleaning up the dog treats, Lucy opened the liquor cabinet and pulled a large bottle of Maker's Mark off the shelf. I put the bottle back and pushed a stool in front of the door to deter her. She pulled the stool away and grabbed the bottle again. She was enraged when I would not allow her to play with the whiskey, so to vent her frustrations she reached out her hand and was about to rip out a handful of the dog's fur when I stopped her. She then screamed for ten minutes.

This all occurred between 5 and 6pm.

Chris wondered why dinner was late.

The only thing atypical about this evening was this: Lucy usually messes with the dog's water bowl as well.

I'll report back when I can, but I don't know when that will be. It's hell out here.

Been in the 'burgh

First of all: Hi Patty! (waves!) At least I know you will read this. :)

The girls and I made the trek into Pittsburgh last week, taking advantage of the summer break to get a longer-than-usual stay in the land of my birth. We had a great time! It was very nice to not only get to see almost everybody, but to get to see some of them a couple of times! We fit in a trip to the zoo (to see the baby elephants), a drive-in (WALL-E - loved it), a day at Kennywood (the standard, for me, against which all other amusement parks are judged), an afternoon at South Park, a brunch at Michael and Colleen's, and lots of time over at Bobby and Margaret's pool. At one point, Aunt Margaret stopped in at my mom's house, and Abbie immediately ran upstairs and put her bathing suit on. Pavlov would have been proud. Chris also made his way in over the weekend, bringing Jasper with him (to the delight of my mom, who I can tell has really missed being able to say, "Becca, get your damn dog!")

So now we are all back at home, decompressing after such a busy and fun week. I am really, really glad that we were able to come in. I miss all yins guys a ton.

I'm going to finally put up some more pictures on flickr, just as soon as I can remember my password, but in the meanwhile here's a good picture to sum up this past week. My mom, in an act of extreme bravery, doing what anyone who knows her would consider unthinkable: conquering her fear of heights to ride the Umbrellas with Abbie: