The Impossibility of Thirteen Clocks Chiming Simultaneously

A belated nod to our nation's birthday, from Walter McDougall's awesome Freedom Just Around the Corner: A New American History 1585-1828:

[T]he American republic was not the product of a spontaneous uprising of instant democrats against tyranny, nor the product of bourgeois versus proletarian class conflict. Otherwise, contemporary historians agree the colonists' anger over taxes, restrictions on commerce, colonial assemblies, and new western settlements, and perceived threats to religious liberty were all necessary conditions for revolt, but none by itself was sufficient. Nor do any of the historical theories answer two mysterious questions. The first is why colonists, especially some of the wealthiest, risked their lives, fortunes, and sacred honor over a thrup'penny tax or mere point of principle. The second is how the colonists managed to set aside their provincial, religious, and social divisions so that--as John Adams put it--"thirteen clocks were made to strike together." 

Those questions cannot be answered by reference to material or legal interests alone. Or rather, they can be so answered only if one grasps that most Puritans, Quakers, Cavaliers, and Bordermen, Old Lights, New Lights, and rational skeptics, invested their material and legal complaints against Britain with moral and spiritual meaning. Was the American rebellion caused by conflicts over wealth or ideology, a backward-looking Whig mentality or a future-oriented American dream, a secular discourse of human rights and equality or an evangelical discourse of corruption and virtue? The answer is all of the above, because the whole experience of the colonists dating back to 1607--and the twin vocabularies they used to interpret that experience--made self-government, religious freedom, economic opportunity, and territorial growth inseparable. Almost everyone from Massachusetts to Georgia could agree that: civil and religious liberty went hand in hand; liberty could not long survive without virtue; an exploding population could aspire to no liberty at all if its territorial and commercial expansion were artificially choked. 

And a nod to James Thurber, who shows us in a fantastic unique tale of romance, chivalry, whimsy, and better-than-Seuss tongue-twisters how inseparable [the] Time is from impossibility. Here, two of our heroes try to start the frozen thirteen clocks:

"I cannot start the clocks," the Princess said.

They heard the sound of fighting far above. "He faces thirteen men," she cried, "and that is hard."

"We face thirteen clocks," the Golux said, "and that is harder. Start the clocks!"

"How can I start the clocks?" the Princess wailed.

"Your hand is warmer than the snow is cold," the Golux said. "Touch the first clock with your hand." The Princess touched it. Nothing happened. "Again!" Saralinda held her hand against the clock and nothing happened. "We are ruined," said the Golux simply, and Saralinda's heart stood still.

She cried, "Use magic!"

"I  have no magic to depend on," groaned the Golux. "Try the other clock." 

The Princess tried the other clock and nothing happened. "Use logic, then!" she cried. In the secret walls they heard the Iron Guard pounding after Zorn, and coming close.

"Now let me see," the Golux said. "If you can touch the clocks and never start them, then you can start the clocks and never touch them. That's logic, as I know and use it. Hold your hand this far away. Now that far. Closer! Now a little farther back. A little farther. There! I think you have it! Do not move!"

The clogged and rigid works of the clock began to whir. They heard a tick and then a ticking. The Princess Saralinda fled from room to room, like wind in clover, and held her hand the proper distance from the clocks. Something like a vulture spread its wings and left the castle. "That was Then," the Golux said. 

"It's Now!" cried Saralinda.

A morning glory that had never opened, opened in the courtyard.

More than a handful: A 6th birthday for the Little Professor

Last week we enjoyed an awesome day with our Little Professor, also known as our eldest son. He marked his sixth birthday, and we sure had a slam-bang time! Well, a slam-bang time for a bunch of kids six and under--and mom and dad, too. I didn't get any pics of the outdoor fun, but you can hopefully enjoy the narrative.

As usual, LP got to open cards and presents throughout the day. After breakfast and his first opening, I asked him what he wanted to do: the park or the library. "The library!" he said, a little to my surprise. So the kids and I trekked over, and he (and Superman and Pearly Girl) got to pick out prizes for the library's summer reading program (good thing I filled out the reading logs before we left!). LP chose three books, thrilled to get another Magic Tree House book ("Christmas in Came-lot," he told me).

LP had originally wanted pancakes and sausage for lunch, but he changed his mind and opted for PB & J--which is what he has almost every day. Easy for mom, that one! We enjoyed eating outside at the picnic table on our newish patio, which was put in in May. (A beyond-huge improvement over the mud hole that's been there for a year and a half.) Then, during quiet time while the others slept, LP and I made "Fire Truck Cookies", since he'd chosen to have those instead of red velvet cake, his earlier choice (I know, Aunt R; I was bummed, too). But we didn't exactly make fire trucks. we used blue frosting instead of red, cut off two corners of each graham cracker instead of one, added golden Oreos (LP's choice) to most instead of regular Oreos, adorned the tops with pretzel sticks instead of licorice, sprinkled nonpareils and red, yellow, blue, and green sparkles all over the tops. We'd thought we were making police cars, but what we made looked way more like race cars--always a favorite here--so hey! Even better!

LP's self-made Birthday Cookie

After we took pics of the cookies, LP wanted to take some pics of his own to show off some of his birthday gifts.

A library pick, for obvious reasons. LP said he'll read it to Pearly Girl and Small Dude.

Another self-evident choice: boys and trucks!

And boys and planes! Dusty as a fire truck plane.

He wanted to do a group shot. All layouts and button-pressing done by LP.

After the others woke up, we went to the pool for some swimming ginormous sand castle fun, came home and grilled out for another round of picnic awesomeness. Papa played soccer with the boys before bed, and all in all, LP had a good day. Actually, near bedtime he told me, "I've had a GRREEEAAAT birthday!" And it was. We are so thankful for our son and the six years he's lived outside the womb!

Sibling excitement

 

"What is it?"...

"A harmonica!!" Thanks, Grandpa E.!

Superman made pictures, a card, and picked some of his toys
 to give to LP. He "wrapped" them in the bucket.

 

Nice monster truck!

A happy six-year-old!

We are still here. Promise.

To the few of you who read this blog but don't see us everyday (or a few times a year, or are friends with us, particularly Papa, on Facebook), relief is finally yours: we are still here! No kidnappings, computer stealings, phone snafus, etc. Just plain old summer craziness.

In the midst of three summer trips since late May, two conferences in July, roughly three thousand miles of travel (I don't actually know how far we went, but with all of the flights and driving, that's probably pretty close), vacation recovery--including fixing an interior water leak from an exterior hose, which is almost almost ALMOST totally cleaned up!--hitting homeschooling hard (we're into Week Four), and my insane nesting drive of this month (rummage coming up in September! Oh, and six weeks out from Baby's due date!), we've been,er, busy. And, obviously, unplugged. But hopefully this is a sign that we're replugged. At least on this our blog. Thanks for hanging with us!

If only I could slip a newborn baby pic in here somewhere...

Late Summer Moments

Yesterday, I took a few pictures of some sweet summer moments. After the last few weeks of convalescence--somehow I got strep, but luckily, Papa and the kids didn't--the quiet normalcy of watching our sons and our daughter was a gift. P pulled out a great two-fer, completing his first self-portrait and writing his name by himself with no prompting. Then he "framed" it on the refrigerator with letter magnets. I had to capture his dual masterpiece for posterity.

As I snapped that picture, C babbled on the floor next to me. She's sitting up by herself now, balancing very well, and a few times a day she even pulls herself up--to look into the bathtub at her brothers, to try to grab books off of a shelf. I've been telling people that even though she's a baby, she's not a baby anymore. Today, as Papa and I rocked on the front porch with C, watching the boys pedal on tricycles on the walk, C reached for me as Papa held her. She looked directly into my face and said, "Ma-ma." We were both moved. Especially when, with a little prompting, she looked at her father and said, "Pa-pa."

I couldn't pick just one. I mean, could you?

After such great pictures of C on the floor, I just had to run outside and capture the boys in action. Our back deck is finally gone--it was old, with a crimped design, and we've wanted a patio for years. Anyway, as I walked out of the back, this is what I saw.

Then I found the boys in the tomato patch, wearing their swimming trunks. Because where else do boys go in their swimming trunks than in the tomato patch?

P and S told me they were pretending the tomato patch was a forest. So there you go.

Papa's been canning consistently these last few weeks--salsa, medium and super-hot, and tomatoes in their own juice--and yet the tomatoes keep coming. August, particularly late August, is tomatoes, I think. Especially Papa's tomatoes.

The boys finally made it over to their swimming pool. Most of their toys spend more time in their pool than they do. Lately they've enjoyed playing in the dirt where the deck was after they get wet. Ah, the joys of children playing!

Happy end of summer, dear ones. May you enjoy a few lovely moments in these waning warm days.

Yet In Its Depth What Treasures, Part II

In a private letter written in 1820, Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote, ''You are now in London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow at once is deaf and loud, and on the shore vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures!'' These words in no way conjure up the dignified, even majestic image (re: NBC entry shots) we desire for London. And yet they fit sport, and especially the 2012 Olympics, in London, metaphorically well.  (We don't really want to talk, let alone think, about vomit, do we?)

It's been an exciting two weeks, these Olympic Games. Swimmers, shooters, gymnasts, runners, divers, tennis players, volleyball players, basketball players--amazing athletes all, and we Olsons had our favorites. Phelps made tremendous history (though he began disconcertingly sluggishly), and we will always be glad we witnessed his historic achievement of twenty-two medals. Unfathomable, really--I don't think we'll really be able to appreciate it until years have passed. He's truly a legend.  Lochte made his mark (in more ways than one--wink and YIKES); Schmitt, Vollmer, Soni, and Ledecky pulled off big, happy wins, too (and Brit Adlington showed super class). The US women's gymnastics team won a stellar gold team medal, and Douglas scored the all-around (impressive feats!), but Aly Raisman gets our biggest nod for peaking--and pulling off awesome performances--AND being such a great team leader for the women's team. We were thrilled Usain Bolt won again, but we were inspired by gentle David Rudisha, who won the 800 meters in world record time. The trifecta of golds in forty-five minutes for the UK was moving--and hearing ten thousands of people sing "God Save the Queen" at the top of their lungs was tear-inducing. So beautiful.

And how about that Allyson Felix getting her gold in the 200 meters? You go, girl! And those relay finals were spec-tac-u-lar. The beach volleyball win by May-Treanor and Walsh was awesome; here they come, Rio?! We watched most of the match between Murray and Federer, and that was a tennis final to remember! Awesome Murray win! (Okay, yeah... we cried during that medal ceremony, too.) The US women's soccer team pulled it out again, as did the men's basketball team in a relatively close final with Spain. And David Boudia squeaking out a gold on the men's platform diving? WOW. All these and many more really impressed us.

And no, we didn't forget her. Yeah, HER. Missy Franklin, the sparkly, smiley teenage swimming phenom, wins our family gold for most bright, positive, sportsmanship-like behavior, and a girl whose attitude we hope can inspire our boys and our little C (who, literally as I typed this, pulled herself up to a standing position! At eight months! Inspired already!). Missy, we hope we get to watch you swim--and smile--for many more Olympics.

Missy, you gave whole new meaning to "in its depth what treasures!"

P.S. Our silver goes to Bob Costas, whose prose and poise always impress us. Watching him interview Missy Franklin was one of our favorite parts of these Olympic Games.

P.P.S. And we've got a tie for bronze--Kayla Harrison, who is a fighter in the best sense of the word, who won the first US women's medal (and gold at that!) in judo; and in the spirit of British excellence, Mohamed Farah, the 5000 and 10,000 meter winner, who Papa can't talk about without getting emotional. Truly amazing.

In Its Depths What Treasures, Part I

Watching the Olympics take place in London and vicinity has been a real joy for Papa and I. When the Williams trumpet chorus begins as glorious vistas emerge of rolling, brilliant green hillsides with ancient ruins; of sailboat-dotted waves nestled close to seaside villages; of regal Buckingham Palace and stately Big Ben; even of drizzles misting the "wilderness of steeples peeping," as Lord Byron put it; all these images make us happily nostalgic for our brief time, as they say, across the pond.

A little sweet, romantic history: ten years ago this fall, Papa and I met in Cambridge (England, for those of you who weren't reading closely above) while we both studied abroad. Papa and I visited London separately during our time there, but we also went to the grand old city together one lovely Saturday. We took an early-morning bus through the ubiquitous drizzle, which dropped us off in the shadow of Big Ben. We wandered through Westminster Abbey, saw My Fair Lady at the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane, popped into the National Gallery, and ate some below-average steak and potatoes at a Trafalgar Square steakhouse before heading back north that evening.  (Side story to our little history: In a miracle of circumstance and twin intuition, my sister--studying in London for the semester--found us in a ticket queue. She spotted the back of my head as she peeked into the kiosk and pulled on my purse to get my attention. I thought I was being mugged, and then I nearly went into cardiac arrest when I saw it was her. I hadn't been able to reach her by landline phone that morning, but she remembered that we might go to a show during our visit, and the stars aligned. Okay, so maybe it wasn't completely circumstance. But hey--this was before we owned cell phones, before we had "smart" anything and had to figure out maps, times, and rendezvous all beforehand and hope nobody got lost or delayed. So it was pretty cool that Mil found us, and we had a nice picnic lunch all together. Um, guess that wasn't so much a side story as a big chunk of it.)

Anyway, we loved our time in England, and the Olympics has given us a chance to vicariously enjoy London's treasures again. As we watched the women's marathon twisting and turning through the city, pointing out places we had been and picturesque sights we never witnessed firsthand, P piped up, "I want to go to London." We will go there someday, God willing, little man!

Little Michaelangelo

Finding the chalk after a dip in the backyard pool, S showed a little artistic flair (and some photogenic moments).

"Can I see the picture, Mommy?"

Light and Tired

I've always loved summertime. I love the long, sunny days and the deliciously warm weather; I love that the sun moves so slowly and illuminates our garden and our porch and our home long into the evening. I love feeling really alive as we move and sweat and play in this time that rejuvenates us for the other learning-and-teaching-and-cold(er) times. But this summer, so far, I've struggled with loving the light and really wanting to crawl into a hole of complete and utter darkness so I can sleep.

One of the reasons is that the boys can't sleep when it's so light out. So their schedules have been wonky. Both have also started cutting back on naps in the afternoon, much to my chagrin. P doesn't sleep much at all then and S only needs an hour or so. Even with quiet time in place, it's just not the same for me as when they're unconsciously slumbering. So I get less rest during the day.

The bigger reason is that C's started moving, which means that she's growing and needier now than she was a few months ago. She needs more attention and she needs more food. The attention part is okay. After all, older siblings are great for that; plus, babies learning about the world around them are ir-re-sis-table. The harder part is the food part. I'm having trouble getting her to adapt to a sippy cup; I should have familiarized her with a bottle months ago and didn't do it. And I can't remember what I did with S, who didn't get a bottle until he was about six months old. I only remember that it wasn't much work to get him used to a bottle and then to formula. There's a reason why he's been called "the trash can" by certain relatives.

I've wanted to breastfeed all of our children for at least a year, but I've hit about the six-month-mark with all of them and hit energy and weight bottom: that is, my energy is suddenly, dramatically reduced and my weight bottoms out to the absolute lowest I am comfortable with. The weight thing looks like a perk to most people; I've been at my pre-pregnancy weight two weeks postpartum without doing anything but breastfeed and gradually lose another ten pounds for the next six months as I've breastfed the babes. I admit that this is a phenomenon that probably rankles most women in the United States who struggle to lose extra weight. My midwife has told me before that I'm one of the few patients she's ever had that she honestly tells to eat a big bowl of ice cream every night. I've tried this, and eating more protein, but it's difficult for me to eat when I don't feel hungry. It prolongs my ability to breastfeed but not enough to overcome my biological quirkiness, i.e. that while most people have a metabolism that runs like a lawn mower engine, mine runs like the generator on an aircraft carrier. Despite all the perks this brings, I can say that having an extremely high metabolism and controlled appetite has one downside, and that is that physically, my lightness as a milk maker can't sustain my children's growth. In other words, I don't have any extra reserves that can be converted to calories.

You can't see it, but the mom is drooling here. Because she's sitting down. Which means she's sleeping.

I think I'm finally coming to terms with this. I mean, I don't feel as guilty as I did with P that I'm not going to make it to C's first birthday exclusively breastfeeding her. I'm thankful that I've made it as long as I have and that C is healthy. And though formula makes me shudder--it looks and smells gross to me--millions, if not billions (myself included) lived off the stuff and weren't adversely affected.

So now we're in the pre-weaning phase, and I'm just tired all the time. This is different from the first weeks after baby. That's a "What's my name?" kind of fatigue, particularly with the first, that looks like a fog in retrospect. This is more of a "running the last third of a marathon" kind of fatigue, where you can't quite see the end and only know you just have to keep on going. This is more difficult for me to weather, in part because of the early morning tutoring thing (though I've thankfully had a break from this in the last six weeks) and in part because in the last month I've flown solo for about two weeks while Papa has been gone to various and sundry conventions and gatherings. I could complain about this, but that's just silly and not helpful. Plus, in a few months, this will all be as a dream because we'll be well into different phases with the kids. Ah, the blessings of short-term memory coupled with parenting.  

In the meantime, though, I pray that C begins to love the cup, takes to formula, and thus leaves me with a few six or seven-hour stretches of slumber without interruption. Luckily, we've still got quite a few long, sunshiney days left to us this year for me to savor, with or without sleep. We've still got hours and hours to play outside, to sweat and run, to swim and splash and soak in the rays. And most of all, we Olsons have been given all we need to support these bodies and lives. We have each other and we have Jesus, so despite the fatigue, we've got plentiful Light and life. What blessings! And just thinking about that gives me a boost of energy.

The Last of August

Okay. I'm going to try not to be too melodramatic here. Today was a beautiful, somewhat muggy summer day. After a foggy a.m, the sun came out just before noon with nary a cloud in the sky. We got out the wading pool (though with only an inch or two of water in it, that barely qualifies for puddle-jumping, I guess) on the back deck, the boys frolicked merrily with their toys, and after less than five minutes in the warm sun I was "glowing."

Yet.

This is the first really "summer" day we've had in a week or so, with some cool, cloudy days giving us whiffs of a change. The tomatoes are coming in, which is always delicious, but also imminently telling. AND the flies are getting slow and fat. Yes, that's a rather gross observation. But they're not only annoying when they're like this; they're bearers of news that I'm not ready to accept.

We still have twenty-three days of summer left. Technically. After five years in Minnesota, though, I know that the next three weeks could change our encounters with the outdoors fairly significantly. Don't get me wrong; I love autumn. (Check out this quick overview of the solstices and season changes; so interesting!) I always think summer is my favorite season until gorgeous, melancholy autumn arrives. But after last winter, which seemed to last forever--okay, so it wasn't six months of winter. It was closer to eight.--I don't want to let these warm days go.

So, as a fond embrace of the glories of summer, I give you this; a glimpse of our simple afternoon in the sun. So many days like this; so many sweet moments of spilling lemonade, squabbling briefly over toys, getting dirty and WET, and generally having a gentle, lovely time watching two boys enjoy warmth and sun.

 

A New Car ...

Some friends of ours have been great about handing down gently used stuff from their boys to ours (thanks, S family!). Lately, we scored an easel--awesome!--and today, a car. This car is probably pushing fifteen years old, because the first family to own it (also friends of ours!) have daughters who are driving real cars. My brother had one identical to this growing up; he loved it, and our boys proved no different. Sidebar: I LOVE outside toy hand-me-downs! It doesn't matter how dirty they are or how old they are (or even if batteries work or not; most of our outside toys came from a neighbor who picked them up from the curb from someone who was literally throwing them away) -- the kids love 'em, and they can beat 'em up all they want.

Anyway, so P wanted to play outside all day today with the car, and S liked sitting in it, too... we had a few tense moments, a few tears, but all in all, our new car is a hit. AND it fits nicely into our one-car garage next to the big car! Enjoy the play-by-play here; captions are unnecessary but oh-so-fun! As always, feel free to contribute your own!

S thinks: Cool ride, Bro! Looks interesting!

S": I seriously want a ride. P: This stick tastes good.

S: I can scale this thing. No problem. P: Yuck. I hate when these things lose their original flavor.

S: C'mon! I know this thing is a two-sitser! P: Should I use the stick...?

S: Just a little bit more room... P: Okay, Mom, I'll smile for the camera this once.

P: Don't even THINK about taking the wheel this time, Buddy!

Peace and harmony (for a moment!)