The four-year-old just said (about me)..."Her shaked her head no." Her dad corrected her..."SHE shaked her head no."

I guess we should be glad his job is math-based.

To my left is a sleeping four-year-old. To her left, a sleeping six-year-old. The four-year-old is tired...just getting over being sick for about five days. The six-year-old is tired...just starting to be sick today. The six-year-old will occasionally get up and run to the bathroom. She's very private about things like throwing up -- or really just being in the bathroom. Plus, being nauseated, she doesn't want to be touched. Since she has no fever, we're really just letting her sleep and keeping an eye on her for dehydration.

And...we were supposed to do Thanksgiving tonight at my in-laws because they're flying away for vacation early Friday morning. It looks like we'll be self-quarantined here, though, until at least Friday. Even if both kids were to feel great tomorrow, it's too risky to expose my in-laws to the potential germs since they're headed out for vacation.

Isn't it interesting how parents seem to develop a super-duper germ resistance? Of course, aside from medical professionals, we're probably exposed to germs only less than people who work in schools.

So, for us, this Thanksgiving will be spent at home. For no particular reason, I'm thinking that might be okay. No businesses will be open so this day at home might actually be spent...at home!

Because obviously they prefer to sleep on the hardwood floor:

There's a child under that shiny, pink blanket. It's my youngest...who started out the night on her bed. By morning, she'll be at least halfway out into the hall. Her sister is about five feet to the left, also on the floor. She also started out on the bed. I've tried to put them back on their beds, but they don't stay. I've asked them why they sleep on the floor...but they just use the standard kid answer. ("I dunnooh.")

I don't remember ever preferring a cold, hard floor over a soft, warm bed. Eric says that, as a child, he liked to sleep on the floor a lot of the time. With these two, I'll find the older one sleeping there maybe 40% of the time and the younger one almost 100% of the time.

So is this something most kids like or is it just some King Family trait?

A certain Ms. Isabella King spent the better part of the last two weeks wiggling her front tooth around, purposefully chewing on things with her front teeth, and pushing the tooth around with her tongue. This sweet six-year-old was being as patient as possible waiting for that first loose tooth to come out. It had seemingly given up on any chance to hang on and could be pushed so far that I thought it would certainly fall out right away.

Then, late last week, she returned from school carrying a white envelope (which, at first glance, looked empty) and sporting a big gap in her smile. Of course, it turned out that the envelope held that little Chiclet-looking tooth and that Bella had lost during the day.

So now the preparations for the Tooth Fairy's arrival begin. It's pretty simple, really. When Bella went to bed, she tucked the envelope under her pillow..with the corner sticking out so the Tooth Fairy would be sure to see it. She asked Grandpap to take a picture of TTF if he happened to see it.

Grandpap, being dedicated to the cause (and a good photographer) stayed up long enough to, indeed, catch the elusive Tooth Fairy on film. The girls will sometimes sleep with their light on which really helped when, in the middle of the night, Grandpap noticed the faint twinkle of light zipping around the room. Although it had to be a long exposure, he was able to get this picture of the Tooth Fairy as she hovered in the center of the room just before taking off again. You might have to click on the picture to get a bigger version, but if you look closely, you can see TTF on the right side of the shiny, green trail.

Bella was quite excited to get the traditional cash gift from the Tooth Fairy and also very excited that Grandpap managed to capture her image on film. Pretty neat, huh?

As we approach October, much of my free time is spent preparing for and contemplating the rest of the year's Scrabble tournaments. It's going to be hectic...but crazy fun no matter what the outcome.

So far in 2008, I've completed seven Scrabble tournaments:

Elyria, Ohio in March;
Charleston, WV in April;
Richfield, Ohio in April;
Pittsburgh, PA in June;
Rocky River, Ohio in July;
Pontiac, Michigan in August; and
Hudson, Ohio in September.

THEN...when I had to cancel my mid-September trip to Fenton, Michigan, it made me a little crazy so, in response, I added not one, but two more tournaments to the list. I had originally thought about letting Elyria, OH go and traveling to Durham instead (the following weekend) because friends were going to Durham and we could carpool. THEN...an opportunity arose to take the kids to Elyria (and Anna, the kids' aunt/sometimes-babysitter and Anna's friend). They can find fun things to do, go to the mall (which the kids love), swim in the hotel pool and so on. AND...Eric and I decided that we would take the kids to Durham so they could all spend some time with one of Eric's best friends who lives there (who has kids of a similar age to ours).

So with everything turning out as it did, the rest of the years looks like this:

Charleston, WV (club tournament) on Oct. 4;
South Lyon, MI on Oct. 11 & 12;
The Burning River Blowout in Elyria, OH on Oct. 18 & 19;
The Bluegrass Ironman (Iron-WO-man) in Lexington, KY on Nov. 1 & 2;
The MOO (Mississauga Ontario Open) on Nov. 15 & 16; and
The Cleveland Classic in Strongsville, OH on Dec. 6 & 7.

You're right...that is Ludacris Speed. But it's going to be great fun. The kids and Eric will get a road trip or two. I'll get to stay with one of my best friends, Spinster Girl, when I'm playing in South Lyon. I'll get to carpool to Mississauga with several players from the Akron/Cleveland area. And in every tournament, I get to try and increase that rating, gain some skill, and, of course, win the after-hours poker games.

This afternoon the family was taking a walk around the neighborhood and the four-year-old announced, "I'm voting for John McCain!" She was actually doing that kid kind of marching thing and said, "Ahm voting for John Mah...CAIN!"

Anyway, this announcement doesn't surprise me. My husband will do about anything he can to bug me. (He's got serious middle child syndrome and is, how you sayyy...an attention whore.) So, yeah...he taught her to say that.

So I told her that John McCain wants to take away all of her toys and that, more than anything, John McCain hates ice cream. Eric countered that Barack Obama wants to take all of her toys and redistribute them so that all children have the same number of toys.

Edie put her hands on her cute little cheeks, smooshed her face around a bit, then pushed her hair over her face.

It's going to be quite an election season here in the house.

Saturday morning, I packed Bella, Edie, Eric, and Lisa into the van. (The kids were fine but Eric and Lisa resisted getting into the trunk.) So our destination was Stop 3 on my 2008 Whirlwind Scrabble Tour: Hudson, Ohio (between Akron and Cleveland).

Lisa is a fellow Scrabbler from our club here in Charleston, WV and a co-contributor to our club's Scrabble blog. Our original plan was to travel together and room together at this, her second official Scrabble tournament. Eric and the girls decided to come along, hang out at the hotel pool, go to the Cleveland Zoo, and so on. That was good for me because, even though I was out-of-town in a tournament, I got to have dinner with them and spend a little time with them.

As for the tournament itself, it was an "open-rated" one, meaning that, regardless of your rating, you could potentially be in a match against any other player. The upside to this type of tournament is that if you have a good game, your NSA Scrabble rating will go up quite a bit. The downside, if you're in the lower rankings like me, is that it's hard to get one of those wins.

There were some highlights...I managed a solid win against an opponent who has thrashed me each of the three times we've played each other in the past. Lisa pulled out a win against one of the top-rated players there.

In the end, Lisa and I did pretty well. I came out with a win-loss record of 4-and-7 (even though Cross-Tables only predicted 1.4 winning games for me. Lisa did even better with a win-loss of 5-and-6 when Cross-Tables had predicted she would win 1.1 games. We'll both get a boost in our ratings and I'll agree that, even though my goal was to come out with maybe 5 victories, a rating increase is so much better than a rating loss. (Duh.)

I remain undeterred. Okay...well, I was deterred for about 18 hours after the tournament, during which time I had resolved to never, ever play Scrabble again. Now...I'm undeterred again. I've got at least four more tournaments before the end of the year. Actually, since Eric's work scheduled has been changed around and he and the kids can travel a little more, I may add one or two other tournaments.

Stay tuned for more details!
And donate generously to help me keep this tour going!
All the cool kids are doin it!!

You've probably heard of a kid here and there who was not yet in elementary school becoming an expert in the game of chess. The possibility for such great success at the game is surely anecdotal, but I don't think as far from the mark as it may seem. The "common knowledge" that kids' little brains are like sponges is fairly accurate. They soak up, process, and adapt heavily detailed and detail-oriented tasks like chess, Scrabble, video games, and foreign languages.



So today I observed some of this for myself as I sat among a group of kids from age 5 to about 12, all of whom play chess pretty well or started playing just tonight (and picked the game up in one session). I mentioned before that my kids' new school, Piedmont Elementary, has a chess team which won the West Virginia state championship last year. Well, my two oldest (10 and 6) decided they'd like to try it out.



This was the initial interest meeting for this year's chess club as well as the first playing session. And I think the method was perfect. New players were paired with experienced players at or around their same age. While there were a few adult sponsors around, the children mostly learned from each other on-the-fly.

Both Stony and Bella picked up the game pretty well and want to go back. I'm really excited! I'm definitely going to have to learn at least the basics of chess. PLUS, I'm hopeful that the popularity of the chess club at Piedmont is at least a good indicator of the interest I hope to get for School Scrabble, which we are going to start in the next few weeks. (I hope and expect that we'll some cross-over players.)

So how awesome (and cute) is all this?!?!? Here are some more pictures:

When my son started Kindergarten, we sent him to the school in the district where his father lives. It's one of the schools in the area where people outside the boundaries of the school apply to send their kids. That worked out really well for us until Stony hit the third grade. His teacher didn't exactly seem to...oh...how do I put this...like children. Because the teacher wasn't having a lot of success with helping Stony learn, we consulted with the principal who could not even accurately detail the requirements for a "504 plan" (the laws setting forth the details for education plans for kids with special learning needs).

The following year, Isabella was entering Kindergarten so it seemed like a good time to make a switch if we needed to. We enrolled her and Stony in a neat little Catholic school with a real dedication to children and a wonderful socioeconomic and racial diversity. Well, there were some things we ended up really liking about it and some things we ended up really not liking about it. As it turned out, following Eric's injury during his job with the fire department, we just couldn't afford private school tuition anymore (no matter how reasonable). Since we're Catholic, the Diocese would pay up to half of it but...that was still a lot more than the free education we could find in a public school.

So what to do? For months, we pondered the right choice for the kids, what public schools might be a good choice, what would be best for them in making a transition, etc. Many of my friends and co-workers had placed their children in one of our local, downtown schools, Piedmont Elementary. Piedmont is interesting in many ways. It serves children who live in some of the roughest neighborhoods in Charleston, children who live in some of Charleston's large, beautiful (and expensive) Historic District homes, and even children who live in the local shelter for homeless families. It's also one of Charleston's year-round elementary schools, where the children go for about 10 weeks then take three weeks off. Lastly, the school gets extra money for extra staff because a certain percentage of its children are below a certain income level.


So how shocked would outsiders be, then, to know that the school's diverse chess team won the state championships last year? How surprised would they be that I know parents who have taken their children out of the exclusive Montessori school to send them to Piedmont? And how surprised would they be to walk in from a city street and see the bright, airy, open-floor plan inside the school? What would they think to know about Piedmont's math and science magnet program and its partnership with NASA?

Well, let me tell you...I was certainly surprised. Several years ago, Piedmont had some reputation problems including behavior issues and an unbelievably-high turnover rate among students (due to transience in the neighborhood). But when I walked into the school in early July for their open house, I knew almost right away that this was the place for us. The building was filled with energetic, smiling teachers and staff. The principal took time from his (also energetic ) runnings around to discuss my concerns about my son's learning, what material was being covered in what grades, and the issues we'd had in the last school with racial discrimination (going in all directions). We talked about the free, all-day pre-school program in which my youngest, Edie, could enroll. Finally, after talking to each of the kids' potential teachers, I walked out feeling great because of this spectacular find (that so many people already knew about) but also hectic because school started the next day.

Stony put up a fuss at first. Somehow he'd forgotten that, only five weeks into summer vacation, he was already announcing his boredom on a daily basis. Bella was her typical, quiet but mildly nervous self but was very happy at the prospect of first grade, new friends, and starting school the next day. Edie was equally excited because she had recently finished potty training and had been walking around announcing that she would be going to school when Stony and Bella went back.

So now we're about three weeks into this summer/fall quarter. The kids come home happy every day. Stony's math is taking off which is awesome because I thought being in the math and science magnet would really give him the chance to showcase his talent in science but might exaccerbate his historically-difficult time with math.




Bella's teacher confirms that, while her nature is quiet, she's having a good time in school and making some friends. Bella's a sweet girl and has always had fun with other children despite her shyness. She kind of takes it all in stride and, even though she can be a little of a drama queen at home, she always seem content around other kids.












Edie has loved pre-school and has had only a couple of mornings (both late in the weeks) when she was hesitant to go. Of course, this morning was the morning I decided to take pictures and, despite her early bedtime, she was tired and most definitely not wanting to go to school. This is the first picture I tried to get:










And here's the best I did at getting her to be compliant:















So there are competing studies about whether or not the educational benefits of a year-round school are greater. Taken at face value, though, and with my limited experience, the kids at Piedmont appear to be academically successful and happy. I'm already a huge fan of the year-round concept which is gaining momentum in West Virginia and even recently earned the endorsement of the governor. Aside from that, my kids come home every day smiling. Of course, it's too early to tell for sure, but I think this is going to be great.

So today is my and my husband's eight-year anniversary. And I know you know this, but marriage isn't always easy. As a social institution, some days I can't even figure out if I'm "for it or agin it." That being said, my equally-stubborn and equally-annoying husband and I have now been part of that institution (heh...good word) for these eight years and, as of today, we're on speaking terms and tonight we'll go to dinner and a movie. I guess that means it's working on at least some level! (There's a joke in there, people...please don't take that too seriously.)

And days like this always set my stream of consciousness on a path toward childhood. Thinking about the complexities of adult life remind me of how, in some ways, childhood was filled with much simpler things. I was an anxious child...quiet...fairly OCD...but caring...and rarely if ever cruel. I loved to read anything I could get my hands on and I loved to laugh until my side hurt. And I found absolute delight in simple things like Mexican Jumping Beans and Pop Rocks.

I remember having lots of Jumping Beans but, you know, I can't remember how I got them, how long they lasted, or what we did with them when they were "done." (Unfortunately, as I read it now, it appears that "done" meant "dead." I have been terrified of every sort of bug all my life so I'm sure I'd remember if an insect had come popping out of my toy.) Holding them in my hand, though, it was so amazing when something I thought was a bean starting jumping around, giving it a magical quality like a pet rock. Back then, I thought a pet rock would come to life if you gave it enough attention. (Then again, I also lined all my dolls up on the bed in a rotating fashion every night so none of their feelings would get hurt because one got to sleep next to me more than others. Wait a second. Maybe I was not a smart child.)

I don't recall now just what I thought caused Pop Rocks to do their thing but I think I associated it somehow with the moon (like maybe they were from the moon). I suppose there would have been some disappointing point in my life when I would have realized, if I'd continued eating a lot of Pop Rocks as I advanced through science in school, that the moon would not succumb to a giant, foaming explosion if someone had dropped a giant can of soda on it. Okay, I feel like I'm getting off the subject, here. The point is, I loved Pop Rocks. What a simple pleasure could be found in that little package of candy.

Nowadays I'm very aware that somehow, I at once feel like someone pretending to be a grown-up and someone very old. I love stupid movies and goofy humor but sometimes I'm the only one laughing. I look around me and I've got a set of adult problems and concerns, a house full of beautiful children, a career I'm never sure I want, more wonderful friends than I have time to see as much as I should, pills to make me sleep, and a wicked sense of humor. And when I look at my children, I see many of my own childhood fears, my own facial expressions, the same resilience that all children possess, and the same fascination with fun, simple things.

So I'm 36...and ten years ago I couldn't have even begun to (correctly) guess where I'd be in life today. All this feels sort of like snow skiing. There's not much real control and, while letting go and taking a chance will probably be the most fun, it doesn't always get you the best result (e.g., trees and/or falling on your ass). Interestingly, I don't like snow skiing. It's cold and scary and I've never gotten past the falling on my ass part.

My closing thought is the result of this same stream of consciousness I spoke of earlier. Thinking about success in life and family, the only thing I know for sure I'm doing right is that I smile at my kids, hug them until they're tired of it, and say I love them with great enthusiasm and genuineness. You know, that sometimes-juvenile sense of humor I've retained is a check-mark in the "correct" column, too. I find myself laughing with the kids a lot (as does my husband). Maybe someday, after the teenaged years when they hate me for everything I may have done wrong, they'll remember that I looked into their eyes and smiled, gave them lots of hugs, and always told them I love them...and that we laughed together.

Charleston's local "light" radio station, V-100, is having their annual Christmas in July today. I love Christmas music. I start listening to it the day after Thanksgiving (and a little earlier if I feel like it). My MP3 Christmas collection is huge and ranges from silly songs, to rock, to Leon Redbone, to classics like Bing Crosby, to Opera. The kids love Christmas music and sometimes they ask that we sing Christmas songs in the van...like last week. It's fun!


You can listen online, too, no matter where you are, by clicking here.

I found out this morning that a certain four-year-old has been having two breakfasts every day and hadn't mentioned it. I didn't notice on the Pre-K schedule that, as opposed to the other kids in school, they have breakfast in their room every morning at 8:15. I'd been feeding her (and the other kids) breakfast at home each morning before school.

So either we don't feed her enough, she eats too much, or she's a Hobbit. Clever, nonetheless, not telling anyone about Second Breakfast.

Scheduling issues meant I had to leave the office at 2:00 and pick the kids up from school. I had to keep them until Eric got home from work (which effectively meant until after dinner). (Oh! The kids...all three of them!...are in school right now because they're in one of our three area year-round schools. I'm gathering my thoughts and observations on this new situation for us and am going to write about it soon.)

So, after picking the kids up, we all zipped over to Kroger and got some supplies for the kind of dinner you can make when you're getting home sooner than 5:30. Getting home by 3:00, I realized we had about 90 minutes to kill, though, before dinner needed to be started...so I asked the kids if they wanted to go to the pool. In case you don't know, we're staying with my in-laws right now..and they live directly across from one of the local private pools, meaning that having 90 minutes to kill meant 5 minutes to get dressed, one minute to walk to the pool, and still plenty of time to make it worth it.

The pool was almost deserted because of a swim meet tonight (at another pool). All the swim team kids are banned from the pool after a certain hour on meet days so they're sort of forced to rest (theoretically) before the competition. Of course, all the swim team kids being gone means all of the parents being gone, all of their siblings being gone, and so on. Counting us four, there were probably 10 people in the pool.

Stony (who's been old enough this year for the first time to go to the pool on his own) found one of his friends and started doing the high-dive, low-dive rotation with the funny "dives" like The Egg Roll, Cowboy, and, of course, the classic Jack Knife. The girls and I hung around in the shallow end of the pool, where they could stand (or tippy-toe for Edie) on the bottom and I could better ensure their continued survival. They took turns climbing the steps, jumping into the water to each other, and playing "watch me, Mommy!"

Edie (who recently turned 4) would cock her head to the side, squint one eye, and sort of bend down and point toward me...like she was planning on hitting a home run in my direction or something. It was hilarious and the sun made her blue eyes glow. With those eyes and the funny pose (and, of course, that face), she looked just like her dad. Somehow Bella's eyes seemed greener these days...and more so in the sun. Every day in the summer her freckles come out more and more. Maybe its the tan on her face that highlights the green. Nonetheless, Bella was in her Happy Serenity mode (her happiness is more serene than energetic) and she looked so sweet doing her underwater flips and smiling at me when she saw that I was watching.

After a while, the girls and I headed back up the house so I could make dinner and they could rest (with Stony planning on staying behind for about another hour). For several minutes before we left we watched Stony do those specialty dives. Edie proclaimed that he was "so neat!"

Dinner came out perfectly...and it was what I'd consider a summer feast! We had blackened salmon, Parmesan & Romano rice, sauteed spinach, and steamed green beans. (Jealous much?)

After dinner the kids settled into the small amount of homework they had. Well, two of them settled into homework and one four-year-old lost it (which four-year-olds will do when they're tired) and was sent to bed. I didn't bother fixing my post-swimming-air-dried hair, threw on an old t-shirt and comfy jeans, and went back to my office for a couple of hours of work...the kind that's always leisurely when the office is empty. After some more work and Gmail chatting it up with my newly-Michigan-residing friend, I headed back home. Since then, I've done...nothing (except study Scrabble words, of course).

Today was a good day.

Today, my youngest child turned four. It's hard to believe we've totally completed the baby-raising phase of our lives. Now there are new tests to be faced. Stony will be a pre-teen soon and all I can say is...if teenaged boys cry less than teenaged girls it'll be all good. Of course, after that we'll be guiding two more girls through their teen years. I won't even begin to predict how that might go.

So, since Eric is away with the Army until tomorrow night, we decided to have Edie's birthday celebration this weekend. Because we aren't doing the birthday thing until this weekend, today had to be special in some small ways. First, I got her one of the stuffed animals from Taylor Books that she and her sister love. This is, literally, the softest teddy bear I've ever held. She was really happy to have it...and even gave it a bath later....but I guess that was her choice.

After work, I rushed home, changed the girls into some clean clothes, and then we headed out to Habitat for Humanity's ReStore for a very cool event. (Stony was with his dad this evening.) Amy Williams, the artist who created our beloved Press 2 for Spanish signs, was taking part in a show with Mark Wolfe as part of Festivall.

So these are the signs my kids and I spent two fun evenings searching Charleston for. We had a great time and I just love, love, love these signs. Today, we not only got to meet Amy Williams, but the girls got to make their very own stenciled signs!!

Amy had a great idea for the girls to create two signs: "Hola" and "Adios." I helped the girls as they chose the styles for their letters from the piles of stencils, then they placed their letters on the board (and a couple of swirls). Since the paint nozzle was too hard for four- and six-year olds to press, they held their hands on top of mine as I sprayed the paint where each directed. (Plus, when they were trying to spray it, the process included pressing as hard as they could on the nozzle and turning it around to look directly at the hole to see if it was working.)

The birthday girl ended up with a beautifully laid out "Adios":






And Miss Bella created a very original "Hola." I really think the extra-large letter L was just the touch it needed:
















They were both very excited and proud when I told them I couldn't wait to frame the pieces and hang it in their room. This kind of creativity is exactly what I love to see from them and hope they continue. I mean, I just love how children aren't as filled with pre-conceived notions about what looks good, what colors might go together, and all that.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...thank you, Amy Williams! It's hard to believe how much family time and fun we've gotten out of your art. It speaks to everyone!! In Spanish!!

Last weekend, my son departed for church camp...his first time at an overnight camp. Even though his nature can be a little shy at times, I wasn't too panicked for him to go. Since he's an outdoorsy kind of kid, I was sure he'd adjust quickly and then have a great time with the fishing, horseback riding, swimming, and all. The camp is about three hours away and, although it's at a place called Camp Tygart, the week our church is there, it's referred to as "Camp Leon." Father Leon has been one of the most favorite priests in our area for about the last 30 years. My husband attended the camp with Father Leon for years. (In fact, Father Leon's notability in my in-law family includes having taken custody of Eric when he arrested for drinking on the beach during a chuch trip when he was 15.)

So a few people asked me through the week if we'd heard from Stony and the answer was "no." We all agreed that that was probably a good thing because there would probably be no calls unless there was a problem. Then last night the girls and I went up for the family night that was to include a bonfire and skits by the kids. (Eric is on military duty right now.) When we got to the camp, though, Stony was ready to put his bag in the car and leave. I figured the week had been so-so for him and he was ready to go. I was kind of bummed but it definitely could have been worse.

Still, we trekked what I'd guess was 1/4 mile along a path and past the lake to the clearing for the bonfire and skits. Turns out I was ill-prepared. It was already about an hour past the girls' bedtime. I had brought no chairs, no blanket, and no flashlight. There was no bathroom within reasonable walking distance for children. About the only thing I had thought in advance to do was dress the kids warmly. Soon, I was holding my four-year-old (which was killing my back) as she started to get sleepy and my six-year-old was getting tired, too. Two valiant men (Chris and a local doctor from our church) rescued me from bad parent hell by offering up their chairs for us (which I gratefully accepted).

What we did get to see was pretty entertaining as there was a huge bonfire that threw sparks into the air like tiny, glowing snakes that disappeared into the night sky. The older kids (I think counselors) had carried the flame into the camp, appearing straight out of the woods in full tribal ragalia, including cute, plastic "grass" skirts. Each group of kids performed a skit and, if I do say so, Stony's group was very funny and seemed well-practiced with their performance of Camp Leon Idol. Stony was the light man for the performance which I think suited his nature.

Right after Stony's group's skit was over, it was just getting too, too late and, being even more helpative, Chris agreed to lead Stony back to the van so I could take the girls there and wait. Even more, Chris loaned me a tiny, LED light which was the only thing that led us safely along the pitch black path (with a steep drop on one side). Do you remember when I said I wanted to go live in the woods? Fuck that!!!! Turns out I only want to live in the woods during the daytime. The woods at night are scary. Beyond the flashlight's illumination of our path, you could not see a thing. There were noises in the woods and the obvious sounds of movement. Deer? Unusually vicious black bear? No way to tell...at all. The girls were terrified and the walk probably took 50% longer because they were clinging to me. My older daughter proclaimed it to be "scary as crap." ("Crap" is her favorite descriptor since about mid-way through Kindergarten. It's not always as a bad thing. She may also refer to a cake as "good as crap.")

After what felt like a really long time, as the girls dozed in the van, tiny orange, white, and blue orbs started floating out of the darkess from the direction of the bonfire. As the campers and parents emerged from the shadows, Chris appeared with my son all safe and sound. Then Stony started recounting for me, in that rushed voice that young boys have, about the things he did at camp. His new friend, Jed, came to tell him goodbye and that he'd see Stony at the pool in Charleston and then they did that hand-grab-type-handshake thing. It was awesome and I was so relieved and happy. As Stony got into the van, he began excitely telling the stories of horseback riding, natural waterslides in the creek, putting salamanders in the girls' bunkhouse, and getting bombarded with water balloons through their bunkhouse windows. He said he wants to come back every year and that he loved camp. Later, in our hotel room, he proclaimed that "today was a good day."

My son was all tan and happy and filled with fun stories for me and his sisters. Despite the late hour and all the complications that came with it, it was, indeed, a very good day.

My son's dad hunts and Stony has had a .22 rifle since he was five. During duck season (December and January), his dad took this video:

It strikes me he much younger he looks with his hair uncut. (He's actually almost ten there and had tried to grow it out like a lot of kids do but it's so straight he didn't really get the look he was going for.) Just a month or so later, here's how he looked with his hair cut much shorter.

And, yes, I recognize the irony of saying how pretty an animal is right after you've shot it. Personally, I wouldn't like to hunt...but I eat meat (with the exception of beef) so...what can I say? And they did follow the tradition of not killing any animal just for sport by having duck for dinner. I guess it also follows the trend around our house, which is to eat organic foods and free-range meat as much as possible. (Here's a chance to plug Bluegrass Kitchen, one of my favorite restaurants ever. They serve only organic food.)

The point of my story...and I always get around to the point...is the way Stony talks cracks me up. He sounds like he's reading from a script! Funny how, when he's writing, the typically-slow fourth grade writing speed, along with his tendency to get distracted, hinders the expression of his thoughts. Someone had the great idea once (really, I'm not being sarcastic) of getting him a laptop. The point was getting him to type, and able to get what he wanted to say out before he forgot. It's really too bad The Evil Genius keeps ripping the keys off his keyboard without anyone seeing her.

My post about Amy Williams' "Press 2 for Spanish" city-wide art installation piece drew a lot of positive feedback. Maybe the combination of a simple art piece, a primary color, and trying on new vocabulary words draws us back to a time when life was easy and happy and, even if there was a bump in the road, we were very resilient.

So this light feeling about the signs has stuck with me since the morning I first saw el reloj on my way to work. A few people sent me hints about where I might find other signs including the statement that, if we were to head out for gourmet pizza and red wine, we might just happen upon a sign.

And along those same lines, there was a sign marking one of my favorite restaurants ever, Bluegrass Kitchen...where you can enjoy a popular favorite like the Black Bean Burrito or one of the special entrees that are almost never the same, but always divine:


And although I've never gotten around to trying the hand-made selection of baked goods at Charleston Bread, I've heard only great things about it.

Then as I trekked around the block today (running errands during lunch), I passed the transit mall (or is it called "bus mall"?)...and I hadn't noticed how big the trees in that area were getting. Everybody deserves a retreat from the midday sun...and although there are a few people can make walking through this particular park uncomfortable for a woman, many just have no place to go during the day. I suppose sometimes it's hard to pass the time waiting for a cooler resting spot and good meal.


















Finally, the kids and I used another nice, pre-bedtime drive to cruise around and capture some more of our now-beloved signs. The kids munched on tiny fish sandwiches (the bread...I'm not sure how big the fish started out) which are perfect for a less-than-messy meal in the van. Right before heading home again to put our two youngest in bed, we stopped in front of Ellen's Homemade Ice Cream and gave the new, young man working there a run for his money. I'm sure when I walked in alone to get our treats, he didn't expect that I would be ordering five different flavors of ice cream scooped into five separate cups. Like all of Ellen's employees, though, he was good-natured so I gave him a nice tip. (Work is hard, ya'll!!)

And, these, so far, are the last of the signs we've found:

That last one is the East End Dog Park, by the way. The boys in the picture were pretty set in their positions right behind the sign and, since they're kids, I didn't want to make them very recognizable on the Internet. (Yes, I know I've put pictures of my kids on the Internet, but I'd rather leave those decisions up to a child's own parents.) Plus, there's only so long a 30-something-year-old woman can stand and take pictures of early teen-ish boys before it just starts to look weird.

So that's 18 signs for us. Far as I can tell, there's at least one more that's on the artist's MySpace profile page. As of today, that one still eludes me! Sadly, at least one of the signs has already been taken (liberated? removed?) but I have a feeling the one I can't find is in a spot that I could would come across if I were walking down The Boulevard instead of driving. So we'll see about that one and if any others are revealed.

Thank you for all this fun, Amy Williams! I love what I interpret as the more serious message behind them and I've love the lightness of searching all around Charleston for them.

Viva Festivall!!!

¿Qué es todo esto? Hablamos Español en Charleston, West Virginia. Un artista denominó a Amy Williams lo demuestra.

I noticed the first of these signs as I approached my office today on Capitol Street and I thought it was probably something for a school field trip. Immediately I was reminded of signs I would see when I lived in San Antonio...the ones that marked the transition into the migrant neighborhoods, where all the signs would be in Spanish. The basic colors of the signs and the simple, stenciled transmission of the necessary information always stood out on the cluttered backdrop of the city. So I still didn't know what this particular sign on the clock was for, but I really liked it.

Later in the morning, I walked back out of the building and, coming from that direction, I noticed another sign in the windows of Ellen's Homemade Ice Cream:

Finally, I walked out about lunch time, heading to my favorite coffee shop (slash cafe slash book store slash art gallery) a few doors down. Spotting yet another sign (in the coffee shop window), I asked the woman at the book and art counter what was up with the signs. She said they were part of city-wide installation piece called "Press 2 for Spanish" by local artist Amy Williams. She said there were even more signs around Charleston and suddenly I was hooked! All of a sudden this cool sign mounted on a clock post became a hide-and-seek that was way even more cool!! I decided to find out more, and e-mailed the artist. (If you go to her MySpace page, and add her as a friend, you can see pictures of any of the signs that I haven't yet come across..or may have already seen yourself.)

So as I walked from my office at the end of the day, and headed for the parking garage, I photographed the three signs I'd seen and prepared to look online tonight for the rest. (The Man has blocked access to MySpace in our building.) On the way to the garage, I saw this:

Then, on the way to pick up my youngest sister, Anna, from her job, I saw this...

...and then I saw this...

I had, just in the nick of time, snatched Anna from the jaws of insanity (she works eight hours a day in the infant room at a daycare center), when we saw this sign and I pointed it out to her:


Maybe we're just an overly-excitable bunch, but Anna was a San Antonian for only the first six months of her life. Assuming she didn't get out much for random street sign reading at that point, she isn't at all used to seeing street signs labeled in a language besides American English. When I told her that they were art and that there were a lot more of them around, she was drawn into my quest to undertake this sort of scavenger hunt with no clues.

So we went home, finished up the second bath of the day for the girls (which the babysitter had been so very helpful to start after a hot afternoon at the park), and took the kids to get something to eat. After we had packed the children back into the van, bellies full and sleepiness setting in, we set out to find whatever others signs we could. We drove back-and-forth on the four streets that run parallel along the river in our small city. We made our way down The Boulevard, then circled back toward town, making sure to pass the hospitals and the downtown fire station (all places we thought a sign might be spotted). We jumped and pointed when we saw anything red, white, and square (including for-sale signs and yield signs).

Usually, though, we would zip by a sign somewhere we weren't expecting it, yell and point as we drove by, then make a quick circle around the block, timing the stop lights so we could get a picture without obstructing traffic. As simple as it sounds, this was a fun time. The almost-four-year-old, like nearly any child her age, was lulled to sleep by the warm night and just driving around. My older daughter and my son showed off the random Spanish words they could think of from school. Anna asked good questions like "What makes that art?" and talked about trying to schedule an art class this fall, her first semester of college. It was a continuation of our conversations during a recent art show near our house where she got to see people her age (and younger) recognized for their urban art and realized that artists don't always look like old hippies or wine-sipping, black-turtleneck-wearing pretentious folk.

So we circled the blocks and photographed all the signs we could find before the time set in to get the other kids home for bed, too. Here they are:





It's time like this that make being a parent seem easy. It's not easy...but sometimes it seems that way for a minute.

Oh! And we were glad that we didn't know in advance where the signs were. I still don't know where they all are, but know for sure that I missed at least one, based on the artist's front page of her MySpace. I'm not sure I'll look at the her other pictures for a while. It'd seem like reading ahead to the last page of a book. But in this book, you get to interpret your own story. Whatever it means to Amy Williams, it can mean a dozen other things to you, or maybe nothing at all.

(Feel free to share with me any signs you might see, too!!)

I don't remember if it's shaky science or just a disregard for the probable balance of "nature versus nurture" in human development (and I don't feel like doing the research right now), but there's a theory that children seem to look like their fathers at birth more often than they look like their mothers...AND that the reason is because Cave Fathers were more likely to protect and care for their children if there was a physical resemblance. Darwin and his (more scientifically sound) Theory of Natural Selection would indicate that children resembling their mothers would be more vulnerable and less likely to survive, ensuring that the next generation would also tend to look like their dads.

Of course, the genetics of our physical attributes aren't as mathematically simple as all that...but I have a point here, people!!! Don't distract yourselves with minute details!

So I have been raising the epitome of these dad-dominant-genetic kids. My daughters, in birth order, have always been my husband's Mini Me and her Mini Me. (There's two-and-a-half years difference in their ages.) They share a room and I checked on them a few minutes ago, using only the hallway light so as not to wake them. Looking down at my older daughter's bed, I honestly could not tell whether it was her or her sister. Looking over at my youngest daughter's bed, it was equally impossible to discriminate between the two. In the dim light of the hall light, and looking at them several seconds longer, only the moderate difference in their size gave it away.

And, although my son has no brother to whom I could compare him, he's always been a white-blond-haired version of his dark-brown-haired father (my husband from a previous marriage). At 10 years old, I always figure his hair will turn darker sometime soon. Then in the winters it's blond, and in the summers it's white. Aside from his childhood hair color the only physical resemblance to that I can see to me...the woman who carried him for almost nine months and endured nearly three hours of epidural-dulled labor...is his teeth. He's even got his father's smaller mouth, from which several of his big, mom-sized teeth have to be pulled before the remainder can be straightened the rest of the way out. Here's an interesting fact about this young man, too...he's "double-jointed" (a misnomer) wherever a person can be. For instance, he can wrap his left arm around his head so tight that he can reach around and place his left hand flat on the left side of his face. He very much enjoys showing off that and his other tricks (like flipping both his legs behind his head) to surprise other kids.