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.