Mid-Potter

Scott and I have been harry Potter junkies since the first book came out. We love everything about it from the individual & unique characters to the plot development. In particular, though, I have to admit I am just a huge fan of very good verses very bad. I like knowing who to root for.

Last night, Scott & I took our three oldest to the midnight showing of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1." We wore the Quidditch robes and the sorting hats. We cheered as the lights darkened with all the other Potter junkies (our community's head librarian was just a few rows behind us) and watched this first public showing of the final Harry Potter book unfold before our eyes. We gasped at the right places, jumped along with everyone else, and cringed at the choices our favorite Hogwarts students had to make. When the credits began to roll, we joined the collective moan that the entire room gave out. We would have happily sat through an additional 2 hours and 40 minutes. Of course, we always go see a Potter film twice for Scott. He needs the first viewing to get over his disappointment with the changes made to the book, and the second watching to enjoy the movie as is. I am already anticipating seeing it again.

This particular Potter book has a special place in our hearts. Scott went to buy a copy at the midnight release and brought it home along with a gigantic poster of the book cover which you only received at the midnight release. He described the scene as being out of a movie you would never believe -- people lined up, snaking their way down the shopping strip and into the parking lot waiting hours for a book. And as the doors opened and people were allowed in, the lines began reversing as people began sitting on the curb side-by-side reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I began reading at 6:00 the next morning. The kids ate pizza all day and I remember being thrilled I had the pizza delivery numbers in my phone so I didn't even have to look anything up and instead could order while reading. I lounged about very pregnant with Abigail reading, reading, reading. I completed the book around 2 am, sighed contentedly and went to sleep. Of course, I had to start reading it again immediately. Which is why we quickly had two copies of Harry Potter 7 in our home - because Scott wasn't about to wait for me to read it through a second time.

We had the audio book read by Jim Dale loaded on the iPod by that weekend and we picked Shelby up from her week of Camp Manatawny and rushed her home for a quick shower. Then we simply drove and drove and drove. We drove as much as humanly possible during the next few days so we could all listen to the book. The twins were two at the time, so reading aloud when they were awake was challenging. We moved their car seats to the back of the van so they could jabber away happily and the rest of us just listened together as the final chapter of a very beloved story unfolded.

I have loved watching these stories become a part of our children's lives and our family's history. I have enjoyed the sense of anticipation that built when each new book was nearing release. And eventually, it became the sense of excitement as a movie was about to open. I have loved listening to our children make decisions about outside activities based on whether or not we'll be reading a good book aloud they won't want to miss. I love listening to the whines of: "We need to find a new series of books to read!" We didn't start reading the Harry Potter books because we knew they would be this remarkable gateway into a love of reading together as a family, but I am utterly grateful that is what occurred.


Truly, I appreciate JK Rowling's books just for her ingenious storytelling - the woman is a master. But I love her books for the relationship with books she brought to our kids. To borrow a phrase from Ron:

Brilliant.

37?

When do you think it is in life when we begin to feel our age? I don't mean act our age -- goodness, I've acted older than my age in some ways forever and significantly younger in others. No, I mean feel our age as in "I feel like I am 37."

I've always looked younger than I actually am, which I realize now is a fabulous gift from God. (It didn't feel so fabulous when I was 18 spending the summer in Europe with my 16 year old sister and I kept getting asked how much older than me she was. Grrr.) On Saturday, I ran an errand with the children in my usual mom-uniform of jeans, a Life is Good t-shirt, and ball cap with required pony-tail sticking out the back and as I was checking out at Target, the cashier asked me how long I had been a nanny.

I glanced at her in surprise and said I hadn't been a nanny since college, more than 15 years ago. This was followed by the statement: "You don't look old enough to have one child, let alone all these!" I assured her I was in fact 37 and that yes, they were all mine. We laughed together, I thanked her for the compliment, Shelby made a couple of smarty-pants remarks about being seen with a nanny, and we headed home to the rest of our day.

But it keeps coming back to me. When my Grandfather Ballenger was in his 70's, I remember him sharing that sometimes the thing that frustrated him the most was that he was still 17 stuck in some old man's body. I think I was about 15 at the time, so I really didn't get it. I just made some random comment (I'm sure it was something intelligent like, "Uhhhhh . . . interesting, Grandpa") and went back to my oh-so-important teenaged life.

Now, though, I get it.

Only I'm not 17. Instead I feel like I'm forever 20, which is when I met Scott. I cringe at the thought of going back to the sheer ignorance of life I had a 20, but I feel 20. When I get up in the morning and the arthritis in my left foot aches, I am always surprised. Isn't arthritis supposed to be an old-lady thing? I'm not old, I'm 20! And then reality swoops back in and I realize I am almost twice that. That I have the life of a 37 year-old including the responsibilities and life-cares of someone who is 37.

So, when will I actually feel my age? Will there ever come a time when I say, "Nah, I'm not interested because I'm just too dang old."

Or am I destined to wake up each morning a little stunned at the age I feel in my bones but not in my mind?

I don't mind getting older. The wrinkles around my eyes when I grin don't bother me. The puckers above my nose when I'm concentrating don't bother me. The grey hair mixed in with the darker brown doesn't bother me. (My natural highlights are a thing of the past since I quit going outside without hats to avoid the cancer-inducing sun rays on my face. Stupid nursing school.) I like feeling more comfortable with me than I did at 20. So why is it my mind can't seem to catch up with time?

I have a feeling that this isn't a puzzle I will figure out any time soon. I wish Grandpa were still around so I could ask him some questions about his 17 year-old self. I would love to know why he stopped aging at 17 instead of 16 or 18. What precisely made 17 his forever age?

And so, I will go asleep tonight knowing in my head I am indeed 37 years old. And yet, I will awaken in the morning, throw my feet over the edge of the bed, stand up and pause for just a moment, trying to figure our why on earth my foot aches. And then it will all come rushing back to me. Ahh, that's right. I'm 37.

And for anyone wondering what exactly caused my left foot pain, I confess it is an old band injury. Yep - super nerd. No Boston Marathon injuries here. I caused irreparable damage to my left foot by marching on sprained ankles.

For the record, the podiatrist said I am his first band-injury. That's gotta' count for something.

Halloween Snaps

Halloween was as fun as always. No rain this year meant a casual trick-or-treating as opposed to last year's mad dash to get the candy before the flood gates opened. Elias truly joined the festivities for the first time this year and he adored his Tin Man hat, wearing it most of Saturday and for Trick-or-Treating on Sunday. And this was also the first year Abigail was able to anticipate the upcoming evening of scurrying from house to house, admiring Jack-o-Lanterns and gigantic blow-up Winnie-the-Pooh Vampires while inspecting the candy being kindly dropped into her bag.

I know that many of our friends avoid the holiday of Halloween and choose not to have their children dress in costumes and join others in the annual candy plunder. But for Scott and I, this is one of the few traditions from our mutual childhoods that has made it with us into our own family. Between the sheer size of our family and the homeschooling, church planting and living in one location for more than a couple of years, our children's childhood looks very different from our own. I enjoy the unadulterated tradition as we design and make costumes together which inevitably brings about stories from Halloweens from when I was a little girl. 

The temperature was a deliciously brisk 55 degrees and we decided it was time to head home around 7:45, which was about the same time we discovered Elias's hands were cold enough to refrigerate meat. The kids enjoyed their usual five pieces of candy before bed and we all joined around the dining room table early on November 1st to partake in the Annual Rutherford Candy Breakfast. Which, as always, was followed by lots of manual labor in order to burn off the sugar rush.

Happy Halloween!

Elias, the Tin Man from "The Wizard of Oz," being restrained by his Iron Man brother, Tucker.

Abigail, the Wood Fairy, as were her sisters before her.

Mario and Luigi, or more commonly known as Keats and Aidan.

Iron Man ready to protect us,  even after he revealed his secret true identity was actually Tucker.

Isabelle reprising her favorite role of Evil Princess.

Dawson, our very own Druid.

Ever the fashionista, Shelby was quite the trendy witch.

It's Later

The last two days I have been determined to do everything we had planned. In fact, I have been just as determined that we will accomplish everything on our list as our children have been determined that we won't.

Our children labor under the delusion these days that time in infinite. There is always plenty of time to "get around to it." Or to "get it finished after this." Or, my personal favorite,"I was just relaxing mom! Don't worry, I'll do it later." When precisely does it actually become later?

I decided today that later occurred at exactly 2:45 pm. At this point, Scott had left for a shift in the ER and I was surrounded by children who had assured me "later" was coming. The items still remaining on our list of things to do was as follows:

school work for 7 children

piano practice for 3 children

clean 2.5 bathrooms

put clean sheets into dryer so 7 beds could be remade

bake 15 loaves of bread plus one pizza crust

clean 1 kitchen

replace 2 electrical outlets

eat dinner & complete dishes in order to start dishwasher

vacuum both upstairs and downstairs

steam mop kitchen floor

bathe Elias and Abigail

I gathered our wee and not-so-wee charges and announced it was officially later and that bedtime would not occur until all of the list above was completed. The dumbstruck looks on the faces of Shelby and Dawson were particularly intense as they asked my all-time favorite question on days such as today: "How are we supposed to do all that?"

I sit here at 10:57 pm in order to write that we did manage to accomplish everything on the list. And the kids did all agree that they would like to use their time a little wiser from now on. I know that only time will tell if these last two days of stick-to-it-ivness have really made a difference in our family's perception of time and its limitations. But for tonight, I will move about in a cloud of naiveness, assuming that I have managed to instill in our children the important truth that time is precious. There is always a way to spin into positive.

Chickens

The kids experienced their first haunted house tonight as we went with my parent's to an Optimist Club sponsored Zombie Fest at a local library. When my dad asked if I wanted to go, I concentrated on the words "Optimist Club" and "library" and extrapolated the following thought -- shouldn't be too scary. Sure, let's give it a whirl.


Our kids are pretty casual about some things. They love "Lord of the Rings" (both book and film) and they have no trouble with Orcs, Gollum, and the Balrog. We are also big fans of Harry Potter (again - both books and films), but there are scenes in the films we completely skip over to this day because the creep-me-out factor is just a little too much. (For instance, Voldemort latched onto Quirrell drinking unicorn blood in the Dark Forrest is a definite skip.) There really is no rhyme or reason behind what will be perfectly acceptable and what crosses the line into utterly frightening.

When we arrived at the library, I should have been tipped off by the Grim Reaper pointing the way towards the parking but it wasn't until I was standing with our guide, gazing over a field of tombstones and moving figures that I really began to question whether this was a wise idea. Keats and Aidan were each clutching my hands and Abigail had a death grip around Shelby's neck. Elias was happily snuggled in Papaw's arms and making his R2D2 noises while pointing at everything.

The first stop we came to was a camp fire where some zombies were preparing their dinner, which is a perfectly reasonable activity. Cooking over their fire, though, was a cauldron of human body parts. And while trying to explain this away to the boys ("How neat that they made their hotdogs to look like body parts! That's a very creative way to eat!"), an escaped convict zombie came dashing out of the woods at us causing everyone to jump and Aidan to begin trying to climb up my leg. But even Aidan relaxed once he understood that the convict-zombie was running back away because "he thought we were his cousins and he was just super-excited to see us tonight! Imagine how disappointed he is right now."

The next stop had some chainsaw-wielding zombie who proceeded to slowly march toward us. I turned him into "the nice gentleman who is going to cut firewood for the campfire we just passed. Isn't he thoughtful?"

Next we were instructed to notice the shrouded skeleton over in the bushes ("Oh my, boys! He must have had to pee in the bushes just like you like to do when you are playing outside!") and the headless giant who was carrying his head in his arms ("Well, that is a convenient way to be able to wash your face. You could simply put your head in the dishwasher while your body slept!")

The zombie girls who waited for us in the gazebo asking if we had any blood to spare certainly earned sympathy once I explained that Zombie blood is actually translated as Hot Cocoa, and these poor girls were just wishing for a nice, warm drink.

On and on it went as we continued to encounter scary situations that I frantically tried to change into something Disney-esque. My creativity went into over drive as I explained away scene after scene. The haunted barn was a tough one, but here I was reminded again that I really do not understand the way our kids think sometimes. As we walked into the Zombie Ball-room, all the kids breathed a little easier as they said "Ah, here are the skeletons!"

Sure enough, the room was full of every type of skeleton you could imagine on display and the kids happily pointed out their favorites in this foggy, poorly lit barn. We really are bizarre.

After our trek through the zombie fest, we were given our choice of Little Debbie snacks and a styrofoam cup of hot cocoa. We double-timed it back to the van where we could get out of the wind and we all enjoyed our snacks. On our drive home, everyone shared their favorite part with the categories being the most creepy part, the funniest part, and their favorite part.

I may have a little damage control to do, although not with the nightmares I thought I might have to deal with. You see, when we arrived home Keats asked Abigail if he could have a drink of her Zombie Blood. I glanced at him puzzled and he replied with perfect sincerity, "You know mom, her hot cocoa."

Oops.

And Now Back to Our Previously Unscheduled Viewing . . .

We became a part of the TiVo community just about 5 years ago. It all stared because while we really enjoy watching the Eagles play together as a family, we really do not enjoy most of the commercials during the breaks. So our solution was to have the TiVo record the game, begin watching an hour or so into it, and then we would skip through commercials, ensuring our eyes were not melted by the images being flashed in front of us.

Eventually, we figured out that we could even fast forward the game and only watch really great plays, reducing a 3 hour window of time down to 45 minutes. Not always the first choice, but time being time means there are limitations and occasionally the only way to catch the game is on fast forward.

The longer we had our TiVo, the more we began to rely on it. Crazy week coming up? No problem, I'll schedule some documentaries to record and we'll watch those to keep up with school work. Diaper explosion in the middle of the big game? No worries, we'll just pause the game, clean up the offending odor, and get back to it. New series we are interested in? Great - we can TiVo the first couple of episodes and decide if it's a good fit. "Curious George" always coming on during dinner? No tears here, a season pass will take care of the recording and we'll just watch when we feel like it.

It is the season pass feature that we absolutely adore. I love that I can tell TiVo to record all the "Phineas and Ferb" it can hold and the machine doesn't need any more information from me other than a channel. It finds the programs whenever they are scheduled and just magically turns itself on, records, and neatly categorizes all programs into the "Now Playing List." Brilliant.

In December of 2009, we learned that I had actually managed to win a new TiVo Premiere XL with a lifetime subscription service. I had no idea what this really meant, so I looked up the stats on the Premiere. This baby can record two shows at once while still allowing you to watch either live TV or a previously recorded show AND stores 150 hours of high def. Which, since we aren't high-def converts yet, translates into a whopping 900 hours of regular tv!! (I know 900 hours seems a little over the top, but c'mon -- it's 900 hours!!)

Our Premiere arrived sometime in July and we were immediately enthralled. Now, instead of having a long column of "Phineas and Ferb" in the play list, there is a neat little folder, which you can open and display all your programs. The clarity was amazing and the new features made our almost favorite gadget (the iPod is unbeatable) even better.

Unless you tried to pause a program.

And then, our new BFF became quite temperamental. Rather than simply pausing like a good-little machine, our Premiere would jerk to a stop, act like it just might pause, and then reset the system entirely. BAHHHH!

After several emails back and forth with customer support (who were fabulous, by the way) it was finally determined that our Premiere would need to be replaced. And so, with heavy hearts we detached all the cords and shipped off our TiVo. And thus our children were thrust into retro-tv-viewing.

scenario the first:
"Mom, can I please watch a "Phineas and Ferb?'"

"Well, I'm not sure what time it comes on." [I suddenly realize we are stuck to a schedule. This is really weird. And, quite frankly, a little nostalgic.]

"No, mom. I mean can I watch it now?"

"Nope. You are now experiencing TV the way most people do. You only watch it when it comes on or you buy the season DVD. Or, you check them out of the library."

[serious whining] "When will our Tivo come baaaaaaack????"

scenario the second:
"MOM! There is a new episode of Wizards of Waverly Place on Friday! Can we please, please, please stay up to watch it??"

"Well, it will be kind of late since we  have the Farmer's Market the next morning. Perhaps if you guys agree to fold laundry until it comes on . . ."

"That's great! Thanks mom!"

scenario the third:
[a firm knock at the door followed by a chorus of voices] "MOM!!! I think the TiVo is here!!!"

[upon opening a box way too small to be the TiVo] "Aw, man! It's just books."

Finally, on Tuesday, a firm knock on the door was followed by a suspiciously good-news-shaped box being brought into the house. And there it was. Our TiVo. A crazy wild rumpus-style dance ensued from every Little Rutherford. Until we realized that our TiVo was without a power cord.

Sigh.

A miscommunication between myself and the gentleman who walked us through the returns process meant I sent the power cord with the return when I actually should have kept it. Mistakes do happen. A quick phone call to customer support meant we had a cord in the mail that day resulting in its arrival today. The kids made sure I had time to get everything set up and programmed after dinner and then they all came it to enjoy "normal tv time" for the crew.

A flurry of pausing, skipping ahead, "Please replay that part" and squeals of delight that "something's recording!" ensued and waaaaaay too soon it was bedtime. Tucker said the prayers this evening and along with requests for healing others and appreciation for our day together came a very heartfelt thanks for the TiVo being returned. As if this weren't enough to help me understand the revered place TiVo holds in our children's eyes, Keats and Aidan both kissed the TiVo goodnight.

As for myself, as much as I enjoyed the nostalgia and memories being aware of the tv schedule invoked, I am really happy that our Season Pass is again doing the work for me. But let's face it, I really do love anything that does it's job without much input from me.

Snaps

Elias cozy in the dryer, which he heaved himself into while my back was turned.

Abigail watching the boys play Wii, shortly after asking "May I borrow your bucket for just a moment? Please."

Adoring Elias

Inside the box house. The best part about taking your own recycling is having the opportunity to snag great, huge boxes in order to create forts, houses, castles, boats . . .
Photo by Shelby

Yippie! Potty trained at last!!!
Photo by Tucker
(who was asked to please get out just after the picture was taken)

Shelby, racing through the Nicholas Flamel Series by Michael Scott.
Photo by Tucker

Elias, being instructed to blow raspberries by Tucker, the cameraman.

Post-bath Abigail.
Photo by Shelby.

Jane, after a particularly messy lunch.
Jane is the darling we are blessed to have join us during much of the week. She makes life sweeter.
Photo by Shelby

Aidan allowing Elias to "push" him down the hill.
Photo by Shelby

Tucker giving Elias a ride down the makeshift slide in the backyard.
Photo by Shelby

Isabelle at the Farmer's Market.
Photo by Shelby

Abigail and Sadie at Dutch Wonderland

Isabelle with Mac, a charming yellow lab puppy who is NOT ours.
Photo by Shelby

Keats and Aidan with his Silly Bandz at Dutch Wonderland.