Happy Birthday, Milo!

Training for the new job, getting the office set up, cleaning out the basement (not at all in that order) and general madness: check.

The insanity continues, but this does not stop the march of time.

Today, my Milo - my rosy, rolly-polly little bugaboo - turns 1 year old.  As always, it's bittersweet. But him? He is ALL sweetness.

Happy Birthday, Little Man.

I've had him for a year.  One unforgettable, joyful, incredibly sleep-deprived year.

It's been a good year, and (as you can see, Miss J!) Milo helps inspire me to rock the lipsticks.  Here you are.  Me. Lipstick. Milo.  A happily matched grouping if ever there was one.  *grin*

Year Without Fear: Challenge Edition!

Ah, year without fear. How easily you have blended into the mundane of the every day.

I declare it shall no longer be so!  

I'm failing miserably on the whole "get in shape" part of my self-challenge.  Not for lack of ANY effort, mind you.  I'll shortly be attempting the Butt Kicking Kill that is P90X.  I've cut back my caloric intake as much as possible while still nursing Milo.  We've begun the weaning process, which deserves a post all its own once I can write it without the weeping and the gnashing of teeth and rending of garments.  Once nursing is complete, I can really get on the Calorie Restriction train. (It's a very slow train.  Sluggish, even.  It runs on very little fuel.)

I'm sorry, where were we, again?

Ah. Yes.  A Year Without Fear.

Well, I decided to open it up for suggestions.  Kinda-sorta.  I'll filter through the suggestions and pick a few challenges to attempt.  I'm not explaining this very well, am I.  

I'm asking for suggestions.  Crazy (but not TOO crazy) adventures for me to try out.  They can't be too expensive (because we're on a limited budget here. So, you know, no skydiving.  Not that I would attempt that, mind you. Did you know life insurance doesn't pay out if you die doing something stupid? Like jumping out of a perfectly good airplane?)

So DE-LURK, my friends, and offer your suggestions.  My brain is tired and I am fresh out of ideas.  Between soccer practice, scouts, school, preschool, and various and sundry other items on the Master Laundry List of daily living, I am going to have to work extra hard to find time for this, but find it I shall.

I've issued myself one challenge already:  Make time to go on our annual pilgrimage to the Maryland Renaissance Festival.  The fearless part? Go In Costume.  And take photos for your mocking pleasure. Huzzah!

Ready: GO!

Busy, Busy Bees

The biggest bumble bee I have ever seen decided to grace my flowers.

And I? I decided to finally put the macro setting on my point and shoot to the test.

I think it gets an A.

Toby started his first official "First Day Of Preschool"  Since he started mid-year last year, he was the only kid having a first day last time.  This time he got to be part of the general excitement of the crowd of tiny humans waiting for The Door to open.

How much fun is it to put this kid in clothes, you ask?

I cannot begin to tell you.

Victorious! He totally wins at Noodle Art.

Wednesday night was Jack's second Pack Meeting for Tiger Scouts.  It was the kickoff for the annual popcorn fundraiser. (Unrelated aside: Who wants to buy $200 worth of popcorn so the kid can get the marshmallow-shooting bow and arrow prize?  Because.. yeah.  Hate them for dangling that in front of the kids, especially one whose mom is an EPIC FAIL at sales.)

They told the kids to wear the jersey for their favorite sports team, but since we only just got the pieces all together for his cub uniform... well, there was no talking him out of wearing it to pack meeting.

The AWESOME. It burns my eyes!

Also, I refrained from mentioning at pack meeting that I find the uniforms

just a teensy bit "Hitler Youth"-ish.  Because I have a tiny scrap of impulse control left.

On Thursday, my BFF Sarah's daughter, Violet, came with us to get desperately needed pedicure.  This girl is the anti-birth control for women who have only boys.  If I didn't already wish to have a baby girl... this child would ignite that covetous fire under my butt, I can tell ya.

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!  LOOK AWAY FROM THE PRECIOUS!!

Finally, we celebrated another successful week of "Staying Out Of The Crazy House" with cookies.  (Incidentally, also our celebration ritual of choice for holidays, births, deaths, PMS and Tuesdays.)

Tobin and his future Missus.  I know this because one minute they are best buds, and the next minute one of them is getting punched in the nose by the other.  It's a fairly even split.  Pre-destined true love if ever there was.

Really, Universe?

If I had known that was all it would take, I would have started a long time ago with the hopeless, anxiety-ridden Walmart Applications.  

Walmart in West-By-God-Virginia is like Walmart in other places times eleventy-hundred.  Mullets there are not even usually worthy of note, because they are as common to stumble upon as jumbo cases of toilet paper.  I've even seen the occasional be-rat-tailed child.

The universe has some sense of humor.  As I was giving up hope, after turning in *I can't remember how many* applications around town, a job I started courting over a year ago suddenly became a possibility again.

And just like that, I'm whistling while I scrub underneath and behind my refrigerator.  

Read that last sentence again, because that? Is some freaky stuff right there.  That is one of those chores that usually sits on my "to do" list for a few years, until my husband finally notices my shaking hands every time I get in the vicinity of said appliance.  Then he does it for me, and silently wonders once again how he ended up hitched to my very special, 100 proof brand of crazy.

He's just lucky, I guess. 

We Return To Our Story (in pictures)

Still trying to get you all caught up, dear readers, on the rest of this slipshod "how I spent my summer vacation".  Let's begin, shall we?  

This summer we joined a CSA and each week we pick up a share of fresh produce, which we have been using to make a lot of this:

Overpriced, mass-produced delivery pizza 

can kiss my sweet onions.

I helped my Mother-in-law make a cornice-thingamajig to hang above her bed and drape luxuriously around her, uh... luxurious? (I really need more adjectives, people) bed. 

Looks cozy, no?  Reminds me of The Homestead Resort in Virginia. 

Swanky!

Remember the newest addition to our little menagerie?  No? Allow me to refresh your memory:

This was after she ate my pepper plant. Again.

But at least she takes care of her own accommodations, right?

A nest? I mean, I knew hamsters did this. Dogs? Not so much.

She looks content, though, doesn't she? 

She probably just finished pooping somewhere I don't want to know about.

At least I can still depend on THIS dog to be somewhat sane.  

Even if I AM pretty sure he was laughing at me in this photo.

Probably because his sister-dog just pooped somewhere inappropriate.

And then my husband got his throat cut by  a big dude with a jack knife a presumably qualified surgeon who removed Cyril the Cyst and made sure there was no Cancer up in there.

Also Trip was forced to wear a funny hat. And then pose so I could mock him for your entertainment at a later date.

You call THAT mocking?  C'mon now, once more - with feeeeeeling:

Notice how they call the warming-gown "Bair Paws".  

Because spelling it "Bair" totally reduces the irony

of having your "Bare" behind flapping in the breeze.

As he prepared to leap up from the chair 

and stab me with the dull parts of the IV pole 

if I did not put the damn camera away, already.

So then we proceeded to the first day of first grade.  Which was also, coincidentally, the last day that the kid would let me pick out his clothes for him.  Apparently he was doing his best to let me down easy, because:

Two weeks later I would find myself on the losing end

of a lecture on the evils of putting love notes in his lunch box.

Which he had to open in front of all his friends.

Next time, kid, I'll pack a bigger note. With lipstick kisses.

And then it was over.  Summer was gone, and it was once again time for the time-honored tradition of the country County Fair:

Second verse, same as the first:

Jack: Here! Take our picture with... uh... Look! Goats!

Toby: NO! NOCAMERANONONONO HULK SMASH!

Me: Milo! Look at the bunnies! Ooooh and baby chickens! BABY DUCKS! 

WOOKIT THE BABY DUCKS!

Milo: *Cackle-snort-grunt* (ooh! Look! I have elbows!)

And nearly all the rides were just the right size.

Except the ones he couldn't ride because his brother was shorter than the arrow

and the ones that Mommy said "NO!" to, because they made her want to puke

just looking at them.

So they rode together while baby Milo and I wrestled for the camera.

And Toby clung to the handle bars

while his big brother hollered encouragements into his ear 

and I looked on and grinned like a fool.

A lucky, lucky fool.

Fare thee well, Summer.

Aaaaaaannnnnd.....  FIN.

Hiding Under Freeways

Freeway underpasses where I live? They are probably not like freeway underpasses where you live.  I have lived a lot of places, y'all, and even in the nicer areas I found that underpasses where a place for graffiti and old urine and the occasional homeless person.

Not so in West-By-God-Virginia.

If you listen close, you'll hear the air whistling through the car tires overhead.

Unless the sound is smothered by the lullaby and hum of the river.

We spent one of the last lazy, luxuriant afternoons of the summer wading in the warm waters of the Shenandoah.

Mom? Can I just lay in the water, Mom? Can we stay here forever, Mom?

NO. CAMERA. NO. Good day, Madam.

I SAID GOOD DAY!

And they didn't fight.  Two tiny adventurers admonishing each other 

not to take off their shoes.

Sitting happily on the sidelines, he didn't miss a trick.

It helps to come stocked with crackers and sippy cups.

Me & My Posse.  My little Neopolitan Trio. 

(And yes, Milo's hair is still coming in red.)

Like I said.  My freeway underpass? Pretty much kicks your freeway underpass's ass.

Woman's Head Explodes. Story at 11.

The past couple of weeks have been some of the most... stressful? Insane? Homicidal? I run out of acceptable adjectives, and yet still I do not find the mark.  Trip had surgery, and it went well. His recovery could be going better, but we should know more about the odd pains he's having after his surgical follow-up on Wednesday.  I'll post a recap of the fun another time.

On the plus side, there is the arrival of my newest niece - Miss Bridget Elise.  Admit it - you want to dunk her in chocolate and nibble on those cheeks. 

Also on the plus side, I DID promise you David Beckham photos and, no, that was not simply a shameless sweeps-week tactic to keep you on the edge of your seat until I made it back here.  Honest. See?

You are so welcome.

So there was that.  And, actually, it wasn't the hilight of the night. Well, anyway, it wasn't the ONLY hilight of the night.  Here are a few more:

Instead of shelling out the $30 for the official kids' Team T-Shirt, we made our own DC United shirts.  Black T shirt from mega-store: $4, plus fabric paint. 

The above pretty much sums up their typical reactions to the camera. Jack is all jazz hands all the time, Toby is more "meh. blergh. NO CAMERA!"

My photogenic Honey. 

Still not amused by the camera, Mom.

Again with the wearing of my Tired Eyes. 

It was a long night, but well worth it and THANKS be to DC United for playing LA so I could drool over Donovan and Beckham.  Also for tying at 0 to 0 so that I didn't have to feel torn between the home team and the hot team.  Yes, I am that shallow when it comes to my sporting events.