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*

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.

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.

This Is Not The Post You Are Expecting.

So there's a lot that I could say here.  I could tell you at length (with funny little anecdotes and wry asides) about the adventures we've had lately.  I could regale you with the story of how I lost my mojo, about how I got more and more tired the past few months until I can barely keep my eyes open during the day, but get a raging case of insomnia at night.  I could tell you how I get winded just tying my shoes, and how getting up in the morning has become something to dread.  I dread it not because I am depressed (I'm not! Life is good!!) but because I know I will wake and rise as exhausted (if not more so) than when I lay down at night.

So I went to the doctor and I got some blood work, and when that comes back I'll be making more appointments with more doctors and - long story longer - it's probably my thyroid but just as likely something else, or maybe I am simply out of my gourd and have a drastic case of The Vapors.  Your guess is as good as mine at this point.  But we're leaning towards thyroid.

And with that, May I present -- The last few weeks: A Photo Essay.

Preschool Class Field Trip to the Zoo.

My little Glam Rocker.

Soccer Super Star

New Haircut.

Kindergarten Graduation

Visit with Grandpa & Grandma

End-of-year Class Party with Teachers.

Growing bigger all the time.

Good Things Growing

I can tell that Spring is finally (nearly?) here.  There are signs of it all around.  

There are roses from Big Daddy.  These are very special roses, also known as Apology Roses.  Because my husband realizes he married a crazy person who immediately assumes, if she hasn't heard from him by 7pm, that he has been in a horrific industrial accident and is right this minute bleeding out from a wound that she would totally know how to apply a tourniquet to but how can she when she doesn't know where to find him ZOMGWTFBBQ?!  So.. yeah.  Apology Roses.  They smell sweeter than the regular kind, I swear.

Several days ago I planted seeds in some paper cups to get the seedlings started indoors because, sweet jumping Joe Jonas on a Pogo Stick, the danger of frost has STILL not passed.  Jack has been terribly upset by the fact that nothing has grown yet. (It's been 5 whole minutes, though, Mom! Why aren't the seeds growing us food yet?!)

And then, today, we spotted this little bugger.  I'm gonna go ahead and assume that that's spinach, since that's what's written on the side of the cup.  I've never seen spinach seedlings before, so I'm not really sure if that's what they're supposed to look like.  But look! How brave he is! Grow tiny spinach, GROW! Make us food, and bring me one step closer to winning Granola Earth Mother Of The Year In My Own Mind!  Because I've heard that's basically the recipe: cloth diapering + grow your own food = Green Parenting WIN! (Don't pop my happy little bubble by dispelling the delusion.  I like the bubble. It's warm and sparkly in here.)

Planting these food plants, in addition to the strawberry, blueberry and raspberry plants that I have planted in the yard, is another step in the Year Without Fear.  I've always wanted a food garden, but always been afraid I'd go to all that effort only to end up with no food to show for it.  I may very well end up with nary a bean for my efforts, but then again I might end up baking blueberry muffins with my own berries.  You never know until you try.

These are snake plants, birthed of some other snake plants, that are originally from a mother plant that was cared for by Big Daddy's Gramma Tina for I don't know how long.  The big plant we had - a cutting from Gramma Tina's plant - lived in Big Daddy old apartment in downtown Washington, D.C., where it was fed a steady diet of stale beer and cigarette smoke for many, many moons.  That plant finally started to lose its long battle with sickness and, despite my less-than-stellar track record at keeping green things alive, I took some cuttings from it and rooted them in water.  2 years later our original plant was finally giving up the ghost, but those babies were still going strong in the water in my kitchen window sill.  They're like the Britney Spears of houseplants: every time you think they're going to make it, they start to croak... and just when you count them out, they're BACK, Baby!  (Suddenly I'm seeing a parity between Britney Spears and Zombies that I had heretofore failed to detect...) 

Anyway, they are finally safely ensconced in some lush potting soil... which is to say that you can probably take safe odds they'll be hunched over limply in about a week.

Happy Spring, Everybody!  Go grow something.

Oh, wait.. you want to know about this?  *pointing at this here blog scenery*

What, THIS old thing?  Ah well. It IS spring, after all - time to make all things new again.  It was about time for a redesign, and this free template (courtesy FinalSense) was just too good to pass up.  A few tweaks to the design and... tah-dah!   It will take some getting used to, but I'm embracing it.  I hope you will, too, internets.

All Jacked Up!

Rounding out our week-long-ish rotation of "Photos of my Offspring!" it is now the turn of the eldest.  The Jack.  The impish/angsty teenage man in the body of a sturdy 5-year-old.  Do not mess with him, he will charm your heart... and THEN break it by telling you "Mom? Can you go take a shower? Like, right now? Because you smell REALLY bad."  Even if you just showered and, really, it's your breath that stinks because how were you supposed to know the kid would want to kiss you before 8am?  And who brushes their teeth BEFORE their coffee, anyway???

You have been warned.

Ignore the possessed demon baby. I was too lazy to fix red-eye.

One of the many "action" poses in his repetoire.

Action pose meets Thanksgiving headband.

At his Kindergarten Thanksgiving feast. He is obviously too cool for his Mama.

The Faces Of Tobin

The Son Also Rises.

10 Days New

Milo, My Love: A Story in Pictures.

"Before"

Pay no attention to the chins.  It's water weight, I swear. I don't really have 3 chins.

Labor is hard work.

Being born is hard work, too.

"Hello, world.  Please to be turning down the lights."

And baby makes... uh... five.  HOLY COW. 

Also, pitocin makes you swell.  A LOT.  I don't really have six chins.  

Enough about the chins.  This is the reason you're really here.  

Yes, he really is JUST. THAT. AWESOME.

Enough to justify all those capital letters. And more.

Enjoy the Silence.

This face? This is the face of a 5-year-old.  One who will start Kindergarten tomorrow.  And, not to get all sappy on y'all, but I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling about that.  At least tomorrow is "Orientation Day" and we'll just be popping in for half an hour to meet his teacher.

Wednesday, though, he gets on the big yellow school bus bright and early... and doesn't come home until just before dinner.  

Adding to my general sense of malaise today is the fact that I got up about 8 times to pee last night - after Tobin finally went to sleep at 11.  And then? And then there's the fact that I have 5 weeks left in this pregnancy and I am sooo ready for this baby to vacate my premises.  

SO let's just say I'm having a petite blue period.  Let's leave it at that.

Blog The Recession

Kristin over at Motherhood Uncensored noticed that July has been a pretty craptastic month across the board.  Oh, sure, there were some fantastic highlights - BlogHer, pretty fireworks, and (for me) my kid turning 5. 

But there was also the wrecking of Big Daddy's car and, oh, did I mention my kid turning 5?

It's hard out there for a pimp blogger, y'all, so let's all do something a little kinder and gentler in August and Blog The Recession.  Basically, that means if you're using a feed reader and normally don't click through... just this once, go ahead and click.  And once you arrive on the site, maybe go ahead and click a few of those sponsor ads.  

Christmas will be here before you know it, and who couldn't use a few extra bucks in pocket right now?  Even if they (like me) don't have any ads, the added eye t

raffic will send a little internet love (the good kind) their way.  

Spread the love, my peoples.  Haven't you heard? There's a recession on.  It could end up like 1977 around here, and nobody wants that, now do they? 

The effects of the recession echoed all the way into 1981.

Or, maybe this is just a gratuitous photo of my second birthday.