A River Ran Through It

(Well, not a river, exactly, but a good, hearty, rushing creek.

Our favorite creek. 

The one where we've spent hours wading, swimming, building dams, enjoying the natural water slide.

Now there's not a drop of water to be found.

Our ghost creek.

Hello, historic Texas drought.)

"Don't let this world around you squeeze you into buildings or books. Buildings are good. Books are good. There are times to be in both. But God created the heavens and the earth to be experienced, not just read about or lectured upon."

"You will grow in your understanding of God and His ways by going outside, observing, asking questions ... and then carefully searching for the answers. He will fill you with wonder and praise."

- Boyhood and Beyond: Practical Wisdom for Becoming a Man

(a terrific book being read at night by the father and son in this house)

(thanks to Michelle at Delightful Learning for the recommendation!)

At the Dog Park

"I like your dog!" I hear the words and smile at the familiar echo. This is my five year old's favorite opener, her pickup line of choice -- at the playground, along the street, and, lately, at the off-leash dog park near our house. 

True to form, her affable intro is followed by, "What's his name? Can I pet him?" -- or perhaps, "Can I pet him? What's his name?" That is, if her sister hasn't beaten her to the punch.

Meanwhile, yards away, weaving his way into the cluster of dog owners standing about in the evening heat, my son is making his own friends. Between the three kids, they have a growing mental Rolodex of all the dog park "regulars."

"Is that your son?" A woman puffs up to me with a grin. When I nod and smile, she bursts into giggles."When I told him my dog's name, he said, 'Oh, Duke! That's a CLASSIC dog name.' What a friendly kid. So socially adept!" I consider telling her he's homeschooled. I bite my tongue.

As  usual, mine are the only children at the park, mingling with new and familiar dogs and owners. We stand about, making small talk, watching Pongo and his playmates race up and down the hill, ignoring their owners' pleas not to jump into the drainage ditch for a swim, and blowing off the steam they've built up all day between air-conditioned walls.

I consider how many times I've driven or jogged past the park entrance unawares ... until we became dog owners. Now, that entrance means freedom for our pup and a minor sense of community for us -- especially for the kids.

Do you ever find yourself building a habit -- consciously or otherwise -- with your family, and then wonder: Does this mark the beginning of a tradition that will last for years? Or is it just a blip in our family tapestry, until circumstances and routines shift and suddenly it's been days, weeks, months since our last visit? Will this become part of my kids' childhoods, or simply a mile marker for Summer 2011?

And now for an even more weighty question. If you had to put up with a blonde pixie dressing you up like this, wouldn't you need to blow off a little steam in the drainage ditch at the end of the day?

Poetry Friday: For the Dog(s)

I dug this poem out of our beloved volume, A Family of Poems: My Favorite Poetry for Children compiled by Ms. Caroline Kennedy. I bet you know why we read this one at the lunch table today:

The Song of the Mischievous Dog

by Dylan Thomas

There are many who say that a dog has its day, 

And a cat  has a number of lives;

There are others who think that a lobster is pink,

And that bees never work in their hives. 

There are fewer, of course, who insist that a horse

Has a horn and two humps on its head,

And a fellow who jests that a mare can build nests

Is as rare as a donkey that's red. 

Yet in spite of all this, I have moments of bliss,

For I cherish a passion for bones,

And though doubtful of biscuit, I'm willing to risk it,

And I love to chase rabbits and stones.

But my greatest delight is to take a good bite

At a calf that is plump and delicious;

And if I indulge in a bite at a bulge,

Let's hope you won't think me too vicious.

Note: Dylan Thomas, the premier Welsh poet, wrote this delightful bit of wry humor when he was only eleven years old! Ian, you've got six months. Better get going!

So, have you figured it out yet? In case you don't follow my every move on Facebook ...

... we got a puppy! 

It's all Pongo, all the time here at our household. Well, since last night. Is anything else happening in the world right now? Huh? I'm sorry, I just can't believe that could be. 

No word yet on whether Pongo will turn out to be  the mischievous  dog of young Master Thomas' ode. He does cherish a passion for bones already. Grassfed ones, from the cow we purchased. 

Other pertinent facts: 

1. I have never ever ever owned a dog  before, or anything else with four legs. 

2. Pongo is a mutt. He has some chowchow, some golden retriever, some collie, we think, and who-knows-what else. Mom was a stray, and he came from a rescue litter. 

3. Pongo's preferred Pandora station appears to be ragtime piano. 

4. As I suspect they would if I were ever to reproduce again in human spawn, the three kids are having power  issues over Pongo. Poor pup, he'll never figure out who's the alpha in this pack, because they can't settle that issue for themselves. 

5. Having  a puppy for the first night is much like having a newborn, but louder. Think getting up every hour and a half (hooray for the heroic Professor!) Actually, it's rougher than having a newborn because you can't just pop the pup into bed with you to cuddle and nurse. 

6. Pongo has white "socks" that are still white after a day in  our family, which is more than can be said for anyone else in this house. 

7. We wuv him.