So. That went well!

Yes, I lasted exactly 1 day before I achieved Epic Fail on NaBloPoMo. What can I say? I am an highly imperfect person. You should know that about me before this relationship progresses any further. Also, I have been told I hog the covers and occasionally snore. (Thanks for the honesty, Honey! You fart constantly in your sleep, by the way! Love you!)

The only clear solution here is to do what I always usually often do when I fall flat on my face. It's time to get back up, dust myself off, glance around furtively to make sure nobody was looking and keep marching onward.

So! Last night, we went out to our favorite local Sushi place to celebrate the End of an Era. Allow me to explain -- A few weeks back we attended Trip's college graduation, and we celebrated that day with an awesome meal at Mussels in Bethesda, MD. (I highly recommend it, especially the Belgian beer selection. Hello, Triples!) That was a great day.

Sadly for Trip, he still had a few weeks left in his final class before officially completing his BS degree. Yesterday, he pushed "submit" on his final paper/project for his final week of his final class... and officially finished up with being a student. That's right, y'all, my husband is officially edge-a-ma-cated! Which, obviously, requires celebratory sushi and saki. Thank goodness the boys are as much whores for sushi as we are -- the little buggars ate 2 entire California rolls and were STILL picking at our cooked rolls. I managed to be magnanimous and not bite off any of their tiny fingers as they reached for my favorite "Good Time Roll". (What?! Tempura fried sushi roll in cherry brandy sauce! You'd totally threaten to cannibalize your children for it, too. Trust me.)

Wait, what?

Oh! Yeah, we were talking about school. Trip is officially done with school! This, according to the 5-year plan, means that it is my turn to go back to school. At the moment, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. I'm still working part-time from home 5 days a week, plus attempting to move forward with that whole Cake thing. Oh! And I've been sewing and crocheting and jewelry-making for a friend's shop over at Tiny Toes Bowtique.

And, you know, doing that whole Raising 3 small humans thing. Yes, I remember I have children. Don't worry, I manage to keep them fed, clothed, and appropriately tickled. In return, they manage to tell me at least once a day that I am a "stinky poopy head! A MEAN one! Who won't let us run around in our underwear or eat Halloween candy for breakfast because you are STINKY!" So that's, you know, completely awesome.

So at the moment I am generally standing on the precipice of the future and clinging desperately to the crumbling vines of my self-identity while I try to figure out what the heck I want to BE when I grow up. Heavy thoughts for a Wednesday, no? I'll try to make Thursday more light-hearted. Honest.

What?

Oh, you thought I'd be less full of angst and ennui after the long break from this chronicle?

You are so cute when you're optimistic!

...

*Cough*

*Tap-Tap-Tap*

*Cough*

Testing... 1-2-3.... Is this thing on?

Hallo stranger!

Let's pretend like we're old friends who haven't seen each other in a long, long time but can just pick up where we left off, shall we? I have a friend like that, and it's lovely. Really. And it's better not to dwell on the "Where have I been the last 8 months" and, in stead, focus on the present.

SO! Welcome to NaBloPoMo and I'm going to give it a go. Likely I will fail -- I don't have a fantastic track record of staying on top of things -- but it's the effort and good intent that count, and I have plenty of both to spare.

For today, allow me to leave you with some examples of what I have been up to of late. This applies to both the making of the following hats and the raising of the small models wearing them.

So. Now, then. How have YOU been?

Greetings, Earthlings.

Oh, 2010. How I do bow down to thee. No, seriously. I throw in the towel. YOU WIN.

Hai! You may be aware that I live in the lesser portion of the greater DC area. That is to say, out in the sticks, but if you throw one of those sticks you will have an equal shot to hit DC or Baltimore.

If you paid any attention to the news this weekend, you will understand when I say that I had a nice vantage point of the Snowpocalypse from my perch over the crapper. Where I was vomiting. Repeatedly and in a projectile fashion. My kids love me, so they joined in the festivities. My husband somehow avoided this plague, and now is officially suspect in an attempted family-wide poisoning. (Okay, so actually we picked up a bug at a playgroup on Friday, where several other families were also infected. But still! He could totally have been trying to off us. Just sayin'.)

Now there are 4 feet of snow in my yard and people keep muttering something about another 8-10 inches this week, but I can't hear them very well... mostly because I am sticking my fingers in my ears and screaming "LALALALALALA- I CAN'T HEAR YOUUUUUU!" but it's not really working. And the thought of more snow makes my already tender tummy do a little slow-roll that is highly unpleasant and makes me think that maybe I'm not quite as over this virus as I thought I was.

Which is to say... HI! I am still here, though the posting is sad and sporadic at best. I am vaguely working on the notion that perhaps it is time for a relaunch of the site with a new focus and new energy and MORE COWBELL, but you'll have to bear with me until I get through the Frozen Tundra that is February.

February is never a good month for me. Historically, I find myself in the bottom of a cavernous depression about this time of the year; the icy grasp of winter wraps frosty fingers around my heart and squeeeeezes for all it is worth, making my chest painfully tight until it's nearly impossible to get a good, deep breath of the fresh air that is so abundant in winter. My vision tends to go all dark and blurry, like before a good old-fashioned swoon, but without the security of a ready fainting couch and cushiony bustle.

Which is to say that I'm treading the icy water for now, dear friends. There is an abundance of gratitude in my heart, don't misunderstand me. It just happens to be frozen under a layer of crystalline ice at the moment, or sleeping soundly in the muddy bottom like fish eggs in winter. Give me a short time in which to thaw, and I'll be back to my old self again. For the small but dedicated few who continue to haunt these empty rooms, I promise to fill them again soon with the sounds of cocktail-party chatter over a background of jazz music and gently clinking glassware.

And wine. Lots and lots of wine.
(See! You knew it was still me in here!)

Birds Flyin' High... you know how I feel....

Welcome to a new year! ...

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, and all that jazz.  Or so they tell me.  The beginning of a new year always makes me feel so... somber.  Almost funereal.  It never feels quite real, as though the months from January to March happen in a fog-soaked dream on some other plane.  It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but certainly not a good place to be for overlong.  It's a good time for writing, at least for me.  It's the time I can release, at least a little, my kung-fu grip on the illusion of control.  Perfection. Control. My ever-present, invisible frenemies.  They live in my head and run taped loops all day long, critiquing every move. Critiquing every imagined move, as well.

The big boys are both at school, and there are a million things to do this morning.  Which probably explains why I got back from dropping Toby at school and then spent 15 minutes in the car, in the driveway, listening to NPR while perusing November's Vogue and daydreaming about auditioning for a play at the local theater.  

I auditioned for a real play exactly once - when I was in high school.  I was terrible.  Self-conscious and crippled with insecurities, over-conscious of my Rubenesque figure in a room full of anorexically thin California blondes, I knew I was doomed to fail before I started.  Naturally, I was correct.

Such a different woman am I from that emotionally crippled girl.  Some of the scars, however, remain.  So I look at the open audition notices (for a playhouse in our ridiculously small Mayberry town) and daydream about just going in with gusto and having a ball.  My husband encourages these flights of fantasy.  I shrug and say "maybe someday" and go back to my lovely daydreams and try to decide if the blouse on the clothes-hangar of a model in Vogue would hold up over my 38D's.  Then I jot down notes, ideas for a short story.  I head back into the house to finish my cold coffee from this morning.  I sit down to type up a few notes on this long-neglected corner of my digital brain.

Outside, the sky is gray and the frosty air burns in my throat like whiskey fire.

Inside, the house is quiet but for the crawling sounds of one tiny explorer and the low hum of the fridge.  Time to begin the day. Time to begin the year.

Hello, my friends.

A Month, You Say?

Really? It's been almost a month?

...

Wow. So that... happened.
...

I don't have good excuses or flowery prose to describe all the very intense reasons I haven't had time to post lately. Someone thought I must be exaggerating the other day when I said my days are scripted down to 5 minute intervals.

I wasn't.

But today was supposed to be spent with extended family, eating the Secret Gumbo Recipe and lounging in front of the fire. Instead? OH, the universe has funny plans sometimes, and now we're snowed in. People, there are a good 10 inches of snow on the ground with more falling and no sign of let-up soon. I gave in and made belgian waffles and now the boys are snuggled up downstairs watching Frosty the Snowman on DVR. I recorded it last night.

In lieu of coherent words to string together for you, allow me to ramble like a tired hobo and share with you some of my infinite wisdom. Or, as a once and never friend once shouted at me to my dismay, 'You know a lot, but you don't know everything'.
But I do know a lot that is dubiously useful! My useless trivia - let me share it with you!

1) Clarinets. Have you ever noticed how much more adeptly they were used for comedic musical effect in the sixties? You hardly ever hear a wry clarinet solo in today's modern television and holiday specials. It's a travesty, really. (See: Frosty the Snow Man, circa 1960's)

2) Dog sweaters. You mock them until you get sucked in, and then the next thing you know you are squeezing your poor pooch into a too-small turtleneck sweater that she probably outgrew about 3 months ago just because it's adorableyou are demonically compelled she's freezing. Really.

3) This probably doesn't deserve its own number slot, but I Just realized we probably don't have enough toilet paper to make it through to the other side of this blizzard. I guess we'll start with the dog sweaters and then move on to the dogs...

4) Thankfully, we are all stocked up on sugar. HOLY DIABETES, People! I'm 10 pounds down on the yellow brick road to my pre-baby figure, and the entirety of my acquaintances are attempting to sabotage this progress with a never-ending parade of Christmas Fudge, cookies, candy canes and festively wrapped Hershey Kisses. Okay, most of those might have been intended for the children but what sort of responsible parenting would THAT be -- for me to let the kids gorge themselves sick on sugar and die of a diabetic coma? I'm self-sacrificing, really. It was just taking one for the team. Also, I might have just busted the button on my new "look - I lost 10 pounds!" pants. (I can neither confirm nor deny.) (Totally Unrelated Side Note: if you happen to see a green khaki button somewhere on my kitchen floor, please set it aside for me along with my dignity.)

5) Okay, fine. I also split open the seat of my jeans at the post office. It wasn't pretty. Thank God for hoodie sweatshirts large enough to double as impromptu butt-skirts.

6) A few weeks ago an elderly Asian neighbor was out on the corner dancing around at 8 am. In his boxers. I was ready to make a non-emergency call to the police department or stop to see if he needed help when I realized he was actually doing martial arts exercises. Man was like 70 years old, but as I got closer I realized he was ridiculously muscular and also scarily good at roundhouse and vertical kicks. And exercising at 8am in his underwear. I think that might be my favorite thing I have seen all year.

7) I don't think I really have a 7, but I was getting into the groove and trying to think of something else useless to share with you. I mean, this snow isn't letting up any time soon, and my husband keeps muttering something about "vacuum" and "laundry" like I'm supposed to be able to focus on something so mundane when we're all probably about to be marooned in our house with nothing but a frozen turkey and box of fudge for sustenance. Hrm. I wonder if the sweater should be removed before one attempts to roast a small dog. Just, you know, as a purely academic exercise....

No charge for the wisdom imparted, just maybe send some moose jerky and few handfuls of dried berries. And if you don't hear from us in a few days, we've either frozen to death in the new tundra that was our home OR we've headed for Fiji and warmer climes. But probably the first one.
Cheers, everybody!

Absence of Writer and Abs.

Wow, you guys. I am really bad at this. THIS. You know! *gestures vaguely around*

The last weeks and months have been a blur of capital BUSY. I wake up, I get the kids to school, I run around and do errands and chores and start my work day, I pick Toby up, I work all afternoon, pick Jack up from school, settle the kids in with snack, get dinner started, eat, put kids to bed, and end my evening in a vegetative state in front of the television.

Lather, rinse, repeat - 5 days a week.

And the thing is, really, truly, it's fantastic. I'm frazzled, I'm exhausted, and I'm having trouble keeping straight the day of the week or remembering when I last put on mascara... and I honestly feel like I am in my element, at last. I really do. I'm earning a paycheck and helping support my family, I have purpose every minute of my day, and despite the fact that nearly all of my favorite pasttimes have had to be put on hold for the moment, I am about 99% content. And still managing to love and smooch my charming offspring and spouse and not yell nearly as much as I usually do.

I am also 100% in need of a way to find time to update this here blog regularly, because my brain pan is getting pretty full and I really do require the exhaust valve of WRITING. Even bad writing. And technically speaking, I *could* have spent Midnight to 3am last night doing that - the writing thing - but it was otherwise earmarked for... (*looks around to be sure we are alone, then leans in and says in semi-shamed whisper*) the Twilight - New Moon movie.

THERE! I said it. Also, in case you are interested, the award for best acting officially goes to Taylor Lautner's abs because OH-EM-GEE. I think I had my first cougar moment. Seriously, thanks a lot Chris Weitz for throwing that in my face and reminding me that I am too, too old to be drooling over jail bait. JAIL. BAIT. And yes, if a 30-year-old man was drooling vocally and publically over a 17-year-old actress I would be totally disgusted and probably call him bad names. I feel the appropriate level of shame for squealing like a tween at several key (and usually shirtless) moments in the movie. And I have to live with myself now!

And yet ...still totally toying with the idea of making a cafe press shirt that says "Team Jacob....'s Abs" because HALLO 8 PACK! And while we're at it... Hallo the rest of you shirtless werewolf types! And, uh, a casual nod in the direction of Edward's shirtless torso because.. meh. Rob? Honey? We both know I've been faithfully adoring you from afar these many months... But, Sugar? I REALLY hope you did a few sit-ups between New Moon and Eclipse. Pasty White is not easy to wear well -- trust me, I'm an expert on the particular subject -- but my eyes are still kinda sore from the glare of Shapeless Shirtless Edward after basking in the glow of the Honey-Rich Buffness of the aforementioend shirtless werewolves for the other 2 hours of the film.

Also, note to self, apparently there is a very good reason I don't usually go see movies after 11pm. That is obviously prime "Crazy" time for developing inappropriate crushes on teenage movie actors and composing abstract monologues to fictional vampires with sadly non-six-packed fishbellies.

Aaaaaand... at least for now.... that's all she wrote.

The Facts of the (Married) Matter

The curse of the broken mag charger looks to be broken today, thanks to my awesome husband who is picking a new one up for me at Best Buy this afternoon. (In spite of the fact that I got a ridic speeding ticket yesterday - one which I truly didn't earn. That would make this my second bogus ticket this year, but the last one I paid because - while I was NOT doing the speed the officer stated, I knew I was speeding and I wasn't going to quibble over the difference between the 73 I was doing in a 65 and the 80 he claimed I was doing "based on his visual estimation".) (I was hoping for good karma for my honesty in paying the price for my speeding.) (My estimation of karma's fairness was highly inflated, obviously.)
So I got a ticket yesterday for going 38 in a 25, only I was not going 38 in a 25. My van won't even get UP to 38 between stop lights, which is where I was supposedly doing this mythical 38mph, and apparently karma wants to bite me where the sun don't shine because now this 2nd offense = double fines and Hooray, kids! Christmas is officially CANCELLED! OY.

*pause for deep breathing exercises*

SO! In light of the fact that I have the worst habit of falling into bad luck, and also of PMS'ing approximately 25 days out of each cycle, I figure I owe it to the HubCap to publicly thank him and maybe fill out an entry on my sad, neglected corner of the web by admitting some things I would never admit to him in person.
And with that... away we go.

5 Things I Really Hate To Admit To My Husband But Are True.

1) It doesn't really bother me when you grab my boobs while I'm washing dishes. I would have told you so sooner, but I was waiting for you to recognize that it does not, in fact, constitute actual foreplay.

2) You snore a lot less than you used to. That said? When you DO snore, it is still akin to jackhammers clearing out a lot in my skull. But still, not nearly as common an occurrence as it was a decade ago. I just like to tease you about it because it's one thing you can't prove me wrong about one way or another. (Unless you secretly set up a recording device in our bedroom, which I'm fairly certain would be grounds for divorce in any state. Plus, my brothers would woop you but good.)

3) Your butt? Still looks just as cute in those jeans. I just don't like to admit it because my own arse is officially the size of Texas. But that's petty of me, so I'm letting it go. (It helps that I finally started to lose a few baby pounds and am now merely wearing "Ridiculous Size" pants instead of "Ludicrous Size".)

4) You probably haven't noticed, but I'm working on enacting the principle that me having a bad day does not, in any way, get improved by making your day worse. I'll keep working on it, and next time you can totally have the last beer from the fridge. And I promise not to pout about it - not even a little. Also, I will try to stop hogging the remote.

5) When I said "I'm not sure how we would work it out" and "we can talk about it more later" what I really meant was "Yes, of COURSE I want to go on a free trip to Arizona with you, but I am too exhausted to work out the particulars". I was hoping you would pick up on that and take care of all the arrangements, but I ran out of things to fill out the last number on this list, so I am translating from Wife Speak for you. You're welcome.

So, Baby? Thanks (in advance) for the macbook charger that will allow me to get all caught up on the rest of my laundry list of computer chores, and let me dust the cobwebs offa this place.
**Not to mention upload the photo of me in my smokin' hot "Mominatrix" shirt from the super-hawt Kristen Chase , otherwise known as "She who makes being the mother of 3 look way sexier than it actually is".**

Cuz, Baby? You are, and shall continue to be:
the monkey to my banana
the black mask to my ninja
the peg leg to my pirate
the Orb of Inquisition to my cloak of +5 agility

You. Complete. Me. (and my laptop, Angelina, who also thanks you.)

Hallo.

Hello, internet people.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Oh. That. Yeah, I know I haven't been around lately.
No! It's not you! It's me! Totally me!

The last month has been a blur of new routines, soccer practices, cub scout meetings, neighborhood drama, birthday parties, and whathaveyou.
Basically I've been running around here like a chicken with a bad haircut, and using my new phone to do all of my internet communications. (If anyone knows how to set up blogger to work on the iphone, I can send cookies!)
I didn't realize how long it had been until I got the advertiser notice that it had been 2 weeks since I posted new content.
2 WEEKS. Let's just let that sink in for a moment, shall we? I honestly had no idea - NO. IDEA.
So here we are and I feel like I should offer you a cup of coffee and a danish, and we can sit and kvetch for a bit, except that I really don't have the time this morning.
Tobin is now in preschool 5 mornings a week which is.. yeah, I can't really talk about that, but he is. He's 4 now! And everything he does comes complete with action poses and sound effects and Lots! Of! Exclamation! Points! Everything he does is the MOST - EVER! (Mom! I just jumped the most highest jump ever! Off of the bathroom counter!)
Jack is kicking first grade's arse. He got straight A's on his first ever "letter grade" report card. I just sprouted 3 new gray hairs. (On my chest, most likely.) He earned his "bobcat" rank at cub scouts. He is seven kinds of awesome.
And Milo. He is 1. He is pulling up on everything in sight, and will be walking momentarily. Because everything happens at once, obviously. He naps while I work every day, which means I did something amazing in a past life to deserve a kid so accomodating. He is fully weaned, which - we're not going to talk about that. Because if we talk about the fact that my baby is really pretty much no longer actually a "baby" in technical terms, I will start thinking about how we were pretty sure this would be our last kid, and then I'll be back to where I was whenever the hell I was talking about maybe possibly trying one more time for a girl or just for another baby because BABIES! and I will now pause to take a mental breath because that might be the most disturbing run-on sentence in history and my therapist (if I could still afford one) would totally have something to say about how I go on and on and blab when I'm trying to run over a topic that I really don't want to talk about but fortunately for me my ADD gives me a good exit because -
Hey! Look! Something shiny!
To sum up, I am back... -ish. It's November, which means NaBloPoMo, and obviously I missed day 1 yesterday, so I can't technically participate, but in honor of the month I will attempt to at least get back to posting on a normal basis. Posting regularly will be much easier when I manage to get a new mag charger for my macbook. (I've gone through 2 of them now. Not excellent.) Until then, I will be light on photos and probably heavy on the sarcasm. Which, you know, lowest form of humor and all that, but I go with what I have. Welcome back! You missed me desperately, didn't you? heh.

Moblogging?

I Don't Even Know.

Oy.  And Oy again.

When Milo was born, we told ourselves "probably".  Probably this would be our last baby.  3 babies, 3 baby boys, and a whole lotta hell ravaged on my poor body.  2 battles with PPD that were powerful enough to leave us gasping for air and paddling with battle-weary arms for an ever disappearing shoreline.

"We'll give ourselves a year to think it over.  We won't make any decisions until he's a year old."

And that seemed like such a nice, safe, vague time in the future.  We knew it wasn't really vague -- no, it was exactly 365 days.  But we thought maybe by then we'd be able to untangle the web of emotions around it.

The long and the short of it is, I'd be happy with another baby of any gender.... but.  But.  We'd really like to have a girl. Each for different reasons; Trip would have to enumerate his own, though I suspect they would mostly have to do with me.

And me?  My relationships with other women have always been complicated.  When I picture a daughter of mine, I picture a girl like me.. but better.  One who would share my passion for books and art and cooking but not my addiction to junk food.  A daughter who - with a girl child's empathy - would come home at the end of her school day and see that Mommy's had a bad day, and climb in my lap for a snuggle.  

My boys are snugglers, too, mind you.  But they snuggle to make themselves feel better.  I'm okay with that; I know it's my job to make them feel safe and loved when they are scared or upset.  I LOVE that part of the job.  

But some days, I have to admit, I daydream about a daughter.  A little bookworm with red ringlets and big brown eyes who would grow up to be more than a daughter... who would grow up to be a friend.  

Milo celebrated his first birthday last week.  We've made no decisions -- there are no announcements here.  Just me thinking out loud and probably sharing too much.  

Also, I'm totally PMS'ing so.. you know.  Take it all with a grain of salt and please pass the chocolate.

The Life List: An Intro.

Maggie over at MightyGirl is one of my internet heroes.  She can make absolutely anything seem stylish and fab.  She makes just existing look like more fun than a human being should be allowed.

This year she was awesomely (and deservedly) fortunate to have Intel sponsor her to accomplish 10 items from her "Mighty Life List".  You should go read about it here, it rocks.

It has inspired me to start thinking about my own List.  I've never been a great goal setter, but part of this process of facing my fears and becoming a bigger, better person has been learning to do just that.  A list of goals that have no definite time deadline, just "Things I Will Do While I Am Yet Living" appeals to my new desire to be goal-oriented, as well as my incurable need to daydream.

SO! Without further ado...

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.

It was a busy week.

I have things to report.  I have photos to post, which may or may not include David Beckham with his shirt off.  (Hint: his abs are even more spectacular in person.) (Even from 150 feet or so away.)

Right now, though, I have my tired eyes on.  Want to see them?

These are my tired eyes.

 They are much like my regular eyes, only now with Extra! Luggage!

So, yeah. Right now? Heading to bed. Hoping to less-tired the eyes. Also hoping to be able to form coherent sentences after a good night's sleep.  See you later, internets.

Bobbing Like A Fishing Lure

It's been a strange week.

Let me start this off by saying that from now on I'll be dropping the "Big Daddy" moniker and just going with "Trip".  That's his name, my husband.  Well, actually, it's still a nick name, but it's one he came by honestly.   And since this is going to be mostly about him, and since I'm tired and in an odd mood today, we'll just throw it out there.  

So Trip has a cyst. On his neck.  A BIG cyst that appeared overnight-ish a few weeks ago.

A large, unexplained growth on the neck is never a good thing, right?

Turns out it's a thyroglossal duct cyst.  That's not important to you.  What might be important to you (okay, it's important to me, so pretend to be interested!) is that he'll be having surgery next Tuesday to have it removed.

The surgery is called "The Sistrunk Procedure" and involves the removal of several bits and bobs from his neck, including part of the hyoid bone.  (I'd link it, but I'm lazy. Wikipedia any of the above and you'll find out more than you ever wanted to know, I assure you. I'm still scarred from the pictures.)

There's a very small chance that all of this is somehow related to cancer.  But since I have firmly, repeatedly reminded him that I have forbidden him to ever get cancer (It's in the marriage contract. Read the fine print.) well, then it's obviously not cancer.

I decided to name the cyst.   I call it "Cedric", which somehow that makes it seem less threatening. 

A few days after Cedric is removed, we'll get the lab results.  These will, obviously, confirm that Cedric is a benign, if incredibly rude and uninvited, visitor to my husband's body.  

I've been bobbing up and down this week.  One minute I'm above water, rushing around to collect the laundry and run a load of dishes and attempt to locate the vacuum cleaner.  The next moment I am sitting on the couch, staring at the family photo hanging on the wall and thinking about the worst that could happen.

I'm sure it's normal to worry in this situation, but I can't decide if trying NOT to worry is just making it worse.  Instead of a nice, even level of anxiety... I'm bouncing up and down like those little red and white bobbers at the end of a fishing line.

I'm not sure I want to know what it is that's biting on the hook.