Happy Birthday, John!

I haven't the words to do justice to him this year. He's just such a great kid. He's grown this year in confidence and stride. (Not to mention size - he is officially bigger than his big brother.)

He has developed a comfortable sense of where he is in this world, and where he's going. He seems to understand that it's a process, and the goal is to remain in upward motion - growing, learning, exploring, laughing, loving. Rinse. Repeat. It just doesn't get old. Not for him.

"What can I do to help?"

"You did a great job!"

"I'll take care of that."

"Let's do something together."

"I've got BabyGirl."

"Can I read it for you?"

If you take statements like those, douse them in a constant stream of humorous anecdotes and wise-cracks (this was his year for figuring out the parameters for humor vs. line-crossing, but I think he's got it now), and sprinkle the day thoroughly with a lot of affection and laughter, you'd just begin to have a peek at living with John.

He's the first one to offer to help. He's the first one by your side on the couch. He's the first one to suggest a game of ball in the meadow.

He gets the jokes that go over the rest of our heads. He makes up some pretty great stories, and tells them over and over again to entertain his little brother and sister. (The Orange Monster stories are still alive and well because of this.)

He wears his great big ol' heart on his sleeve. It gets bumped from time to time, but he's not about to put it away. That just wouldn't be The Way To Live.

And laugh. Oh, you've got to laugh. Sometimes I probably shouldn't, but, well, he's funny. He's literary funny. He's abstract funny. He's frat house funny. He's an all-around humorist. God help us once he masters satire. But, oh, he's hilarious.

He dreams big, and yet he's pleased and thankful for the littlest things, as well. He *gets* the pleasure of delayed gratification in a way I've never seen in someone so young. He's not only willing to stick it out for the long haul, but he really wants you to make it, too.

His father is his gold standard, and every step he takes, every task he takes on, he measures it by "Like Dad". If it'll get him one more step closer to being "Like Dad", he's good with it. If it's not "Like Dad", then his internal filter kicks in. So each step he takes, he takes with care and adoration, his eyes set high.

I just don't know how to express the way this child makes my heart soar. Every. Single. Day. Whether it's his laughter, his empathy, his wit, his noble heart, or his gentleness... it's all a part of Being John. And we get to live that each and every day. I'm so thankful. So humbled. So in love.

 

This morning he summed up how he feels about turning seven:

Well, it's pretty exciting to be in my Late S's.

(He had to explain that one to me, but it's funny.) And he's right. It is exciting.

Happy 7th Birthday, John! We love you, and are so proud of you! Always.

Love,
Mom & Dad

Fruit Pizza

 

As you can see, it ends up looking better than it starts out. We were too impatient to wait for the crust to cool completely before adding the toppings. This was so easy to make, and the boys enjoyed both the making and the eating.

The crust recipes I found in my searches were, of course, all useless for a wheat-free crust (pre-made pie crust, cookie dough, etc.), so we used the Breakfast Foccacia recipe in The Gluten-Free Gourmet Bakes Bread. This recipe also makes a delightful danish!

The "sauce" is actually the cheese - equal parts cream cheese and whipped cream, beaten until smooth.

Top with your favorite fruits. In this case, I went with canned fruit - pineapples, mandarin oranges, and triple cherry fruit cocktail. This is the one and only time my children have willingly eaten fruit cocktail. (Our Wonderful Neighbors in MD would be so proud! *sniff* *sniff*) The oranges didn't make it onto the pizza. We fell to temptation. So good!

And in going with the whole cheese-as-sauce, sauce-as-cheese theme, the final product got drizzled with your basic, cooked, sugar-water-oj-vanilla sauce. There's some left over. We may have to make doughnuts tomorrow.

Birthday Countdown Time

*whispering*

Hi. It's me. It's almost three, and I've got to get some sleep, but I wanted to blog anyway. I'm so excited! My JohnBaby turns seven today. Seven! This is the child who keeps getting caught in age-warps. I swear he was two for almost three years. Five for only a month or two, and now *poof*, he's seven. I'll wax philosophic after I've had a little sleep.

In the meantime, we've got all the ingredients for John's birthday breakfast (he requested pizza - insert nauseated, confused Mom look here). I didn't think the rest of us could stomach pepperoni before noon, so I tweaked the plan to make a fruit pizza, instead. I think they'll all get a kick out of that. Zorak had a Very Cool Idea to pick up a Pirates t-shirt for him while I was at the store, so it's now wrapped and laid at the foot of his bed. It'll be his birthday suit. *grin* We may start a new tradition. It's not like any of them are going to stop growing anytime soon, so a new t-shirt is pretty much a necessity at any time. But this can be something we wouldn't normally buy, something a little different, something they've expressed an interest in. Just a little something. Sometimes that can bring the biggest smiles.

Today, we go bowling with two of our favorite Big People in the world, Me-Wa and Me-Tae. It should be a lot of fun, and a nice, low-key way to enjoy the day. James and Smidge and EmBaby bought him the Pirates of the Caribbean chest with three action-figures set, and he'll have that to open at the bowling alley.

The party itself is scheduled for Saturday. I have no clue how that's going to go. I have no clue if any of the children will be able to make it -- this is the week when everybody always seems to be going out of town for their Big Summer Trip. Well, whoever can come will have fun. Zorak's been making a Pirate Ship Pinata this week, and it's looking really good. I'll post pictures of the process once it's done.

We didn't make the mark of having it all done and ready well ahead of time, but at least this year it didn't sneak up on us. That's some improvement.

Ok, too tired to think. Talk to you later!
Kiss those great, big, growing babies!
~Dy

From Our Visit With Verena

As promised, here are a couple of pictures from our visit with Verena and her crew when they came through. Her husband kindly took the photos with both their camera and ours, so we could get the moms and all the kids in, but then we didn't get any with him in there!

I don't think any of our children are this red, naturally, but by the time we both said, "Oh! Wait! The camera's in the car!" Well, they'd been playing hard for quite a while.



Isn't she just lovely? She exudes grace and gentle strength, folks. She's just very neat. And so pretty!

And since the boys were all so good about posing nicely for the group shot, we just had to take a silly one, too. That's a fun bunch of kids, there!



And now, I must go. I've been so good about getting to bed before midnight, and it's starting to help!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Father's Day!

The cake tasted delicious. Fortunately, you cannot taste "concave".

The carrots, while wholly experimental, were a big hit, too.


Mostly with the boys. But that's good. Happy is the Daddy who knows his children are loved as well as he is.

Kiss those babies, and Daddies, and anybody else who needs a little extra love today!
~Dy

Man, I am on a roll!

First, the Nightmare on Elm Street Team Cake.

New, for Father's Day: Give the man in your life something that says You Must Really Love Me!

Erm, no. How about, Look, Ma! No Skills!

Nah.

The sales blurb for this particular gem (you know, in my imaginary baked goods store) would be something along the lines of, "two hollowed-out cake layers, filled to the brim with delicious cream cheese icing, held together with three or four tons of additional cream cheese icing, and topped with rolled buttercream carrots."

Ah. Well, the icing tastes good. The cake does, too. (What's left of it.) It just... exploded... in the oven. I'm not... entirely sure... what happened.

We'll see what miracles can be performed with the adhesive properties of grease and sugar!

Happy Father's Day!
Kiss those Daddies!
~Dy

Who's On First?

Communication has been called an art. Words, the most common form of communication in society, have been called "the most powerful drug used by mankind." (Kipling)

So why do we speak? Write? Read? What is the goal of our communication? If we are not understood, is it we who have not done our job properly? Or is it our audience who must hash it out until understanding is reached?

In our home, we take a clear and simple stance: your goal, when you speak or write, is to convey your thoughts, ideas, and questions in such a way that others are capable of comprehending you.

It's why we tell Smidge, "Use your words."

It's why we told the older two the same thing.

It's why Emily will hear the same. exact. phrase.

It's why we read, read, read. Talk, think, discuss. We want them to have the vocabulary and thought processes to communicate well, and not have to rely on the flippant, rude, and useless, "whatever."

Let's illustrate.

If you feel I've called you a toad, (perhaps, because I've said, "Your amphibian roots are showing,") you would most likely question me about it. And if I said I was only thinking aloud, or that I was only attempting to have an honest dialogue, but meant absolutely no harm at all... we could probably move on with the discussion. But, if my references continually pointed toward an implication that I believed you to be a toad (caught any flies today? is that a wart? don't lick her, kids, you know how she is!) It's probably a fair assumption that I'm not being entirely honest with you when you call me on the carpet for being a bit of an ass, and I deny it. It would behoove me to

a) admit that I think you're actually a toad, and be willing to discuss my reasons for coming to this position,
b) admit that I'm busted, I'm being a jerk, and knock it off,
c) just shut up, already.

There is no real option d) continue to berate you for jumping to wild conclusions, as I simply happen to *adore* toads.

At least, not with any intellectual honesty, there isn't.

On the flip side, if you speak to me in German, beyond words such as "strudel" or "schnitzel" or possibly "guten tag" (but with all the proper decorative punctuation that I don't know how to type in Blogger), I will have no idea what you are saying. You can say it more slowly. You can say it more loudly. You can even s-p-e-l-l it out for me. It won't help, because I do not speak German. Yes, I could learn it. (If I ever go to Germany, I'll give it my best shot.) However, if you'd like to communicate a thought, an idea, an opinion, (not just to me, but to anyone) you are the one responsible for putting it in such a way that I am (we are) capable of gleaning your meaning. Don't move closer and cover us in angry spittle in the hope that we will somehow "get" what you mean. Oddly enough, that does not work.

We tell the children that if they would like to be understood, it is their job to make themselves understood. We hold ourselves to the same standard. That does not mean we do not occasionally say something confusing. (For instance, if I were to say, "This is stupid," Zorak might want clarification. Is this whole plan stupid? Is this part of the plan stupid? Is this specific detail stupid? Or am I just being a jerk about it and can't think of anything articulate to say? If I get angry with him for asking for clarification, it's pretty obvious at that point that I was just being a jerk.)

That, right there, is a matter of personal responsibility. It means that when we do convey something that makes our audience look askance at us, we take it as our responsibility to re-phrase what we've tried to convey. We wouldn't allow our children to shout at their friends, "Oh! You plebes! Whatever!" We wouldn't allow ourselves to do that to one another in a dialogue, a discourse, a discussion. We. Simply. Wouldn't.

No more would we accept an out-of-left-field, unrelated comment from one of our children as a legitimate portion of our discussion. (At least not without pointing it out.) For example,

This is a difficult task. I could use help,

would not be answered appropriately with,

The human head weighs eight pounds and emits carbon dioxide from the nostrils.

In fact, the next thing you would most likely hear is something along the lines of,

What? That was just weird. Please don't do that. If you're going to join the discussion, then your contribution needs to have something to do with the discussion.

We do guide our children away from behaving like that. Why? So they learn how to communicate appropriately. They learn that it's their job to communicate appropriately.

When people behave inappropriately in their communications, discussions devolve quickly into one-sided conversations that leave the rest of the group fairly uncertain. Those who don't know the meter of that verse are accused of choosing not to hear it. Or of being too stoopid to understand it, too thin-skinned to be worthy of responding with any rationale, too antagonistic to be reasonable.

Or maybe, just maybe, they aren't *not getting it*. They've seen enough, and are smart enough to know that, sometimes, it is what it is. That does happen, from time to time. If they're wrong, they might ask the speaker, "Please, clarify."

It is, after all, the speaker's responsibility to make themselves understood. Isn't it?

So please, if I'm unclear, help me uphold my end of the communication deal and let me know I've been unclear. I'll do the same for you.

Dy
People can only hear you when they are moving toward you, and they are not likely to when your words are pursuing them. Even the choicest words lose their power when they are used to overpower. Attitudes are the real figures of speech.
~Edwin Friedman

A Quiet Saturday Afternoon

Too beautiful this morning to stay in. So we went outside. And worked. And read. And talked. We laughed. Commiserated. Thought. It was good.

Too warm this afternoon to stay out for long. For us. So we came inside. And played. And read. And ate. I hung some wash. He played with the boys. The baby napped. Again, we laughed, we thought, we did. It was also good.

Makes me wonder what delights this evening will hold. Whatever it is, it will be good. That much I know.

And I'm thankful.

Kiss those babies.
Dy

The Twelve Tasks of Hercules

It's a good thing neither of the boys has ever been called upon to perform such duties. This afternoon, I kicked them outside to go play, dig in the dirt, do something different. They went outside happily.

And in five minutes, they were back inside.

"*phew* Man, is it HOT out there! Can we come in?"

*raised eyebrow* "And you want to play football? Football, which begins in August. August, which makes mid-June look like February. Really?"

John considered and said, "You know, I don't think I would."

James said, "I think I can do it."

Zorak chimed in, "I know you *can* do it. The question is, do you *want* to?"

*long, drawn out pause*

James, "Yes. Yes, I want to do it. And I will do it with a good attitude."

WHY??? What has this child decided football is going to be? It's going to be hot, sticky, mosquito-infested hell! That's what it's going to be! *whiiiine*

OK, it's probably a good thing I've never been called upon to perform the tasks of Hercules. James might pull it off. But personally, I suspect John's the smart one of the bunch.

Oh, and summer ball begins in July. So we have some recovery time. Yay.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

US Stuff

If you've ever wondered, "Is anything still made in the USA?" Evidently, yes. Check this out.

US Stuff

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The views of the above linked website do not necessarily reflect those of the moderators of this blog, or our subsidiaries. This link is provided for the sole purpose of saying, "Hey, look, I found a place that has a conglomeration of businesses that manufacture things in the United States of America!" Any attempt to find proselytization and or pandering will be mocked on sight. I am not a doctor, I just play one at home. As with any diet or exercise program, please consult a physician before you begin. Not eligible in Hawaii, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, or small towns in Ohio. Please try this at home, but know that you do so at your own risk. Oh, and don't run with scissors.

So Where Was I Last Night?

I went to the Carnival! The Carnival of Principled Government, which I found at Consent of the Governed.

There are some interesting and thought-provoking articles from the left, the right, the middle, and the lone anarchist.

Zorak let me read articles aloud to him for a while, then he gave up and went to bed. I couldn't get my IM to work, and that's probably a good thing or I'd have stayed up until four o'clock reading and talking and sharing links.

One blog that kept me going for quite a while is Tales of Modernity. Saul presents a thought-provoking dialogue of philosophy, mathematics, science, and politics. I'll blog more about some of the thoughts that gained a little momentum last night, but that'll have to be done at another time.

For now, the Small Ones need direction and affection, and we need to prepare to spend the afternoon on the water with friends. Yeah, this is the good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Forever Home Update. Sorta.

The front of the house is now fully cleaned.

And it's still ugly.

But now it's clean and ugly, and has a lot less green on it.

Thank you, and good night.

Dy

We Got to Meet Verena!

*Said in my best sing-song voice*

Verena is one of the sweetest ladies who posts at one of the forums I, erm, frequent. (It's not an addiction. Shush. Now blogging, that's an addiction.) Anyway today, she and her Totally Good Sport of a Husband, and their Three Precious Boys stopped in our little town to visit with us while they were on the road.

And she's just as interesting, if not moreso, in person.

And none of my children did anything horribly mortifying in her presence (for which I thanked them profusely when we got back in the car). They're good kids, but I'm always worried they're going to do something strange at the most inopportune moment, like peeing on the bushes right there in front of God and everybody, or declaring their knowledge of homebirth procedures for the uninitiated, or farting the alphabet. I don't know. You just never know what a child will come up with, but you can bet it will not have been included in the Quick 'n Easy List of 1,001 Things You Went Over With Them Before You Let Them Out of The Car. Guaranteed. They're sneaky like that. So, perhaps I should amend my statement. OK, officially, they did not do anything horribly mortifying that I am aware of.

The boys had a lovely time. Smidge cried when he realized they weren't coming to our house and we weren't going with them. Verena and her husband and I had a nice visit, and I do hope they will take us up on the Open Door Invitation. We'd love to have them anytime.

Anyhow, we did get pictures, but I've got to email her and ask permission to post 'em first. (I forgot to ask before we left the park.)

Ah. What a fun day. Tomorrow, it's back to the grindstone!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Answer The Phone

'Hi, Dy! This is J---. I was just callin' to let you know they've put together a Summer Ball League."

heh.

Yeah.

Thanks. :-)

A Few Things

This has been quite a week, and it's only Tuesday. First, there was the team party cake. I offered, I know. What was I thinking? It baked up beautifully, and even came out of the pan in one piece. I was SO jazzed.

I made a "rolled buttercream fondant" for the main icing. Tinted it deep yellow/gold and rolled it on. Oh, beautiful! Then, I needed to make a dark navy blue. Hmm, there's no blue-blue in this box of many colors. Only Sky Blue. Well, what do I mix to make it work (there's always a way to make it work!) After several panic-stricken hours online, and one rather cryptic phone call to Wilton:

W: Oh, honey, you can't make Navy Blue with sky blue. You need Royal Blue to make Navy Blue.
ME: Ok, but I don't *have* Royal Blue. I *have* Sky Blue, because that's what you put in your eight-pack.
W: Well, you'll need to get some Royal Blue.
ME: I'm an *hour* from the only store that both carries your stuff AND is open for the next 48 hours.
W: You need Royal Blue and Black.
ME: So, um, do you have anybody there who'd be willing to get a little crazy and wing it with me?

That's when she threw the rule book out the window and helped me figure it out. In case you ever run into this problem, it takes the ENTIRE tub of Sky Blue and a few dabs of Violet, and you will get Navy Blue. Oh, sure, I may be a bad influence on CSR's, but hey, we both learned something, and that's good.

Now, for the record, if you try to decorate a cake at home, make sure you turn the AC down. 80 degrees might feel nice and comfy *for you*, but your buttercream may beg to differ. It doesn't seem to matter how stiff you make it, it's gonna wilt, and sag, and probably streak. So, John's team got a lovely blue and gold Nightmare on Elm Street cake. *sigh*

EmBaby's rear seems to be on fire from the inside, and she's been rather miserable and clingy in a hold-me-only-by-the-armpits sort of way. She awoke this morning in such pain that she couldn't get up. Turns out she'd had a blowout sometime during the night, and that didn't help. She just lay there, trembling and crying, but unwilling to go through the torture of sitting on anything in order to stand. We spent a lot of time the last few days airing out, bathing in cool water, and eating bland, bland toast. I thought it had to be teething, and sure enough, there are two more on their way in. So, she should be better soon. I hope so!

Then, the Very Nice Lady from the dentist's office called yesterday. The conversation went like this:

VNL: Hi Mrs. Dy. I'm just calling to let you know that we have an opening for Tuesday at 5:30, and see if you'd like to take it.

ME: Um, TOMORROW?!?!?

VNL: ...Or would you rather keep your Thursday appointment?

ME: THURSDAY?!?!?!

VNL: ...Or did you completely forget you had an appointment this week?

ME: THIS WEEK!?!?

VNL: (who by now knows me well) So Zorak can take the kids and we'll see you tomorrow at 5:30?

ME: *whimper* OK. *sniff* Thanks. *sob*

So Zorak came home and I grabbed my current read (The Prince) and headed off for the root scaling.

I've gotta say, it's worth it. I'm actually (and no, not just blowing smoke, here) looking forward to next week. And it's not just so that the other side of my mouth will match, either. (Although that will be rather nice.) It. Is. Worth. It. If you've been putting off going to the dentist because you just *know* he'll tell you something horrible, well, here you go - short of doing meth, my teeth seem to have been about as bad as they can be, and the worst they can tell you is that they can help you. Go. And I'm going to go to bed. :-)

Oh, if I owe you an email, give me until tomorrow night to respond. I haven't checked email in a while, and now that the novacaine is wearing off, I'm not checking it tonight, either. Please know I'm not ignoring you. I'm simply overwhelmed with wilty icing, dental visits, some computer trouble, and erupting toddler. Things should be back down to a dull roar by tomorrow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Garden Boxes

Well, y'all have been tremendously patient about all the Forever Home renovation pictures. Tonight, I'm too tired to face the deck/eaves/rotted wood/paint sample horror that is the current project, so I thought I'd finally post about the garden boxes. Yes, I know, we built them back in March. If it's any consolation, they still pretty much look like just the same as in the last photo of this entry. Zorak and I are writing this together, so to differentiate our voices, we'll bold his technical notes and zippy commentary.

First, these are built almost exclusively from salvaged wood on the property. The plywood, the pressure treated posts -- all stuff laying around from the renovation or from the previous owners. That did wonders not only for the landscape, but for our pocketbook, as well.

The boxes are a combination of rectangles, squares, and angled pieces. We did this because we have grand plans to build up a maze garden with sitting spots, inviting play areas, and a gazebo, all incorporating these shapes. Hillbilly Zen, if you will. We are of a philosophy which observes strict conservation of energy (ie. kinda lazy), and so they're fairly modular, easy to build, and ought to last a long, long time.

The sides are all constructed thusly:

(Technical specs: 3/8ths plywood sides, 9-1/4" high - which we did just so we could get five strips per sheet; pressure treated 2x4 bottom; regular 2x4 top board. The rabbet joints were cut with a circular saw with a strip of wood clamped to the base of the guide to set the 3/4" depth and 1/2" width of the joint. The half-inch width allows the 2x4 top [and bottom] to overhang the sides by about an eighth of an inch, and leaves a 2-1/2" wide hollow core.)

*psst* You can see it in action *here*.)

Assemble with child labor, using galvanized nails...

The sides attach to the corners with a nifty little insert, jointy thing. (Zorak will fill us in on the details in the next technical note.) The boards are cut to fit just inside the cross section of the side pieces, and then you can secure them. Again, with the children. (Conservation of energy rule #326 - your children have far more energy than you do. Use it well.)

This one is for an angled piece -->

And this one is for a straight 90' corner. Handy for all those squares and rectangles, no?

(The posts extend beyond the height of the sides so that they can be set into the ground. They do that on the top for purely aesthetic purposes. The bevels, for example, help hide some of the hazards of using salvaged material. The cleats, what Dy refers to as "boards," are 2x3's, which allows them to fit inside the 2-1/2" hollow-core sides.)

Once the individual bits and pieces are assembled (and inspected by the dog and the baby), you're ready to let the kids finish building the box. (Again with the child labor!) Simply slip the pieces into place and nail or screw the sides to the cleats (see, I got it right this time!)

Then it's time for the really fun part! We used deck stain, namely because we had some on hand, and wanted to see how it would look. But also because we would rather not be replacing these things before we're done with the rest of the renovations. Conserve, conserve, conserve.

By this time, the boxes are too big for the kids to drag out to the garden, so you'll probably have to do that part yourself. OR, you could load the box on a red wagon and have the children haul it to the top of the hill. Not that we actually did that... we're just sayin'.

(Once the deck stain dried, the boxes were lined with polyethylene landscaping liner to keep the interior of the boxes from rotting.) Obviously, if you're going totally organic, you'd skip this part. And the one just before it. Well, and the pressure-treated... come to think of it, if you're going totally organic, this is going to be no help at all.

Now it's just a matter of placing your boxes, making sure they're level,


And filling them in with nutrient-rich goodness! (A little sand, kitchen compost and manure from the barn, in our case, to supplement the heavy clay soil we have. Yum! Yum!) The sticks are just for decorative purposes. Plus, they give the children something to do when the children decide to try the "I'm bored" line on us. So far, the sticks are still there. Smart kids.


And there ya have it - Forever Home Garden Boxes. Yet another family project we've started but not finished, erm, survived.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, my.

The Very Cool Older Cousin mentioned in the previous post (we'll call her T) brought her boyfriend (we'll call him P) up to the City of Rocks with us. The kids loved him. The adults loved him. In fact, we jokingly told T that even if she didn't keep him, we would. She (jokingly, we hope) said that now that he'd been introduced to the Libertarian Hillbilly contingent of the family, we'll just have to see if he takes off running.

She mentioned that he's said that he'd like ten (I think it was ten) children, but would be happy with six, so, of course, never one to let a potentially awkward moment go by, we lined them up with five of the six cousins in attendance (we thought there were all six, but I can't find that last one in the photograph) and got a group photo. Sort of a time-lapse "this could be your life".

Two children...

five children...

He didn't flinch.

As a matter of fact, take a look at how he's looking at her there in the photo on the bottom left -- the one with all the children.

 

So really, is it any surprise that this weekend, when he brought her supper from Nopalito's (a sign of true affection and care in our clan), he also brought her a ring?

And that she accepted?

And we are so very glad at this news.

It's a big world out there, and they're about to embark on an incredible journey together. Is there anything you'd love to have known when you started out? Would you all help us celebrate by sharing the wisdom about marriage and life together that you've garnered over the years? Either leave your thoughts in the comments section, or blog about it and leave us a link. If you'll be so kind to do this, I'd love to print it out and share it with them: a guidebook for the scenic route, if you will.

Personally, I hope they have many babies for us to be kissing for years to come! ;-)

But tonight, let's kiss those spouses, and the babies, and take a moment to savor this wonderful life we have, and all it's taken to get here.
~Dy

Group Photos, The Hard Way

On the last day of our trip, we all went out with the kids to help them hunt for the elusive Kokopelli paintings. While we were there, we figured we'd give the ol' Group Photo thing a try. So we tried...

And we tried...

Almost made it!

NINE shots later, we got a great picture!

One to make copies of and frame.

Oh, that's just exciting.

But wait...
What's that?
What is he DOING?!

Nooooooooooo...

And how, I ask you, HOW, did we not see this branch the first eight times?

BAH. This is why people pay professionals to take these pictures.

The trip in review.

Well, we made our first flight.Aaaaand, I discovered that I'm not quite *there* yet in my photography skills that I should bother trying to take pictures from inside the aircraft. The kids had a great time flying. The folks around us were all headed home to Texas and had no problem sharing their "first flight" stories with the boys, pointing out interesting things, laughing, sharing. The flight attendants were just sweet as can be to the boys, and made a point to let each of the children know how much they appreciated their polite manners and thoughtful traveling ways. I let the attendants know how much *I* appreciated the positive feedback. (A little reinforcement never hurts, does it? I *do* appreciate that.)

I was so pleased not to have ended up in a confrontation with anybody from TSA that I thought about buying myself a drink! But, then I realized... we still had two airports to go through. So I stuck with Dr. Pepper. Which was probably a good call, since we missed our connecting flight in Dallas. As you can see, either James sprouted ale from his head (a new mythology for the traveling family?) or Zorak didn't have the same concerns surrounding alcohol and confrontation that I did. (Which would make sense. He's a friendly, amorous drinker. I turn into Sleepy Dwarf or a banty rooster - neither of which is recommended when traveling with children.) Emily, in the back there, is trying to crawl over Zorak so that she can "cheese" for the camera. I'm so glad she's reserved and cautious.

Obviously, the layover didn't bother them one bit.

We made it into New Mexico in the wee hours of Friday morning, slept a bit, then headed to the City of Rocks for three days of camping, hiking, hanging out and laughing. The kids thought it was the best. thing. ever. Seriously? How often do you get to climb thirty feet up a rock wall and pretend you're being crushed by a boulder? Of course, this is best done with cousins who share your penchant for the weird and wonderful (One of them, Cousin M, is there on the far left). And note the Totally Cool Older Cousin who willingly posed for the shot by pushing the boulder off the little guys. *happy sigh* How cool is she? I love her.

(Side note: my zoom lens was fully engaged. They are way. the. hell. up there. Totally Cool Older Cousin kindly stayed close enough to snatch Smidge by the britches should he have toppled over the edge. Because I would have been useless, what with the paralysis and incontinence and all. Sometimes it's really hard to let go. I'm glad we have family that makes it easier to do.)

My favorite part of the outing, aside from getting all my children back in relatively good form, was having everybody converge on Saturday for a good, old-fashioned Hangin' Out & Eatin' Session. Sissa and T (the Totally Cool Older Cousin) had come up with us, as well as Cousin S and Cousin M. Then Aunt Sally came down from Silver City, Aunt B, Uncle Fred and Gram came up for the day from Cruces. Cousins Kris and David came up to stay the rest of the trip. There were a lot of us, and it was wonderful. Can you believe Gram stayed most of the day? Here she is, at 98 years old, having a wonderful time in the desert...


Next up, petroglyph hunting and group photos for the uninitiated.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

What kind of spider is this?

Or, more accurately, "was"...

(Click on the image for a -- heh, heh, I was going to say "better" view. How about, "for a closer look".)

And please, nobody tell me it's the state spider and protected by law. I just don't think I have it in me tonight to handle that.

Dy

Warning: Dirty-Faced Child Photos

Ten days, four children, 1000 miles.

High desert, low desert, windy plains.

Gorgeous blooms, and equally stunning sinus reactions.

Water at a premium.

Just so ya know. My children were not clean when most of these photos were taken.

Yeah, I could've taken wipes and given each one a quick swipe before clicking away. But short of hooking up some kind of vacuum system to Emily's face, there was no helping that. Besides, I've only got two arms, and they were busy holding the camera and the coffee. Gotta have priorities.



I know dirty-child photos make some people cringe. My children were dirty during the filming of these shots. So, you've been warned. :-)

Dy

HA!

I couldn't let it rest.

I got into it.

Startin' to feel like a regular hacker. Which seems to be the only way to get into these things.

Oh, just how dangerous I could be if I knew what I was doing with this computer!!!

But now, I'm just too tired to do anything.

And so, to bed.

Dy

N'er Mind

I've been trying to extract the photos from the disk for the past three hours. So far, all I've seen are 209 .gif graphics from FujiFilm, a slower working speed on this computer than I had on my Commodore 64, and now, several messages informing me that I'm missing MSVCR80.dll. (I can even type that in without looking at the letters, because I've searched all over kingdom come for it.)

According to my computer, I have three copies of it, and then three other files with the name in there somewhere.

Somehow, that's not reassurring.

And so, I'm going to bed. Perhaps tomorrow the Computer Fairy will grant me three wishes. Or will tell me to simply click my heels together three times, and say...

Yeah. I know.

Ah, well. At least it was a good day in other respects. But it's almost two in the morning now, and I was going to go to bed by eleven. I'll fill ya in tomorrow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

North American Rock Babies

Many people are familiar with the Prairie Dogs found in the high desert and plains regions of the Southwest. A lesser known critter is the North American Rock Baby.

These little cuties are often mistaken for badgers, mountain goats, or, quite frequently, prairie dogs.

They are relatively slow, but have excellent balancing skills.


Larger, more aggressive, and less likely to carry rabies or eat the roots from foliage than the prairie dog (though more likely to consume rocks, twigs, and gum stuck to the undersides of tables), the Rock Baby is a true delight to observe and photograph.



If you venture out early in the mornings, you may be fortunate enough to find a Rock Baby poking its head out of its den.



(I found the missing photographs!)

Kiss those Rock Babies!
~Dy

Pictures Tomorrow!

No, I didn't get the upload issue fixed. I haven't heard back from Fuji *at all*. And unless I can bring in an exorcist, ALL of the pictures from the one card are gone forever. *sniff* But Kate suggested it might be the card reader. And I think that was it. Took the remaining card to a different store (one that doesn't hold people hostage at Kodak Cell Block 011010100), and the photos uploaded just fine. Unfortunately, without thinking, I hit "print 4x6", and so... now I get to cough up $48 for almost 300 photos... that I didn't want printed. I just wanted the $3 disk. But that's what I get for doing these things with four children in tow. The Monday after graduation. The Monday after Seniors return from their "Senior Trip". Monday, period. (WHAT was I thinking?)

So, anybody want a hard copy print of the Smidge Cam shots? I'm pretty sure there are some stunning nostril shots, and I vaguely remember a few knee-view ones, as well. C'mon, someone has to have a 3yo who would take one look at it and say, "MAN, that kid takes a great picture!"

Well, that's okay. I've been remiss in sending actual pictures to Loved Ones, anyway. So, this is sort of like God, kicking my behind into gear, right? After all, if He can use anything to bring about good, He can certainly take my AirHead Moments and make someone else smile. And then, charge me for it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Pummelled

Well, no. There were no fists involved. However, you can take your pick from any of the following:

beating
thrashing
pounding

Our team just didn't show up tonight. I mean, the little bodies were out there, but they weren't *there* there. It was like watching the inmates from the asylum enjoy an evening at the park. Weird.

I got a cute picture of one of the kids smearing the white chalk onto his face, like warpaint. Once he saw me with the camera, though, he launched into a Charlie Chaplain dance that I didn't have the heart to encourage. (Although I may talk to his mother about encouraging him in the arts. He's pretty good.)

John got his first taste of utter, total, bitter disappointment. That's a nasty pill to swallow, but for being six, he handled it well. He'll probably read this one day and think I'm not quite right in the head, but it really was harder on us to see it happen, to know it was coming, and not be able to do anything about it - than it was for him to be standing there, making circles in the dirt and have it hit him out of nowhere that "it's not happening, kids". I think this is the first time this season, aside from that one pre-season-tournamenty-thing that our little guys took a thorough beating. Every other game has been at least close. Or at least not... this bad.

I'd like to wax philosophical. Probably to make myself feel better. But every time I try, Zorak shoots me a look. Then he starts thinking about a beer commercial he saw today, and he laughs. He laughs the kind of laugh I'd probably trade a kidney to get out of him. And, well, it's hard to be philosophical and deep when I can't help but think, "ok, beer surgeon"...

So that's it. That's all I've got tonight. Tomorrow, we'll bake bread. We'll power wash more dirty stuff. (Ack, another random thought. They're pinging around in my head with abandon.) Love on my kiddos.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Garh!!!

"Hey, honey, does John have practice tonight?"

"No, why?"

"Well, I wasn't going to take him to the batting cages if he also had practice."

"Oh. No, I don't think he has anything now until Thursday. They might play their first tournament game on Friday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course I'm sure... I think."

So, Zorak took John to the batting cages for a bit of one-on-one time, some practice, and a little fun.

Aaaaaand, I just got off the phone w/ the coach's wife. "We missed y'all at practice tonight. Is everything okay?"

*wham* *wham* *wham* (beating my head on the desk) I. Am. Not. Fit. For. This. Job! "Yes, everything's fine. It's just that John's mother is a hard-core blonde sometimes."

Thankfully, all they did tonight was batting practice. *whew* Oh, and the first tournament game is tomorrow, not Friday.

Isn't that uber-organized woman with the dauntingly flawless scheduling skills who was supposed to have this job here yet? No? OK, then, I'll keep winging it, but I tell ya, they're starting to get Suspicious.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I have the best readers in the world.

That's it. Some of you other bloggers may think you have better readers, but no. You don't. I do. They're mine, all mine!!!! Not only are the funny and insightful, but they're observant. And thoughtful.

The kids and I stopped at the post office to pick up our mail today and ask them to resume delivery. (Yeah, I know, we've been back, what a week? Well, it's not like we trek all the way to the end of the driveway every day, anyway. At least at the Post Office, it all stayed dry.) And what was in the pile of mail?

Well, yes, we've won some kind of a grand prize that we can claim when we test drive a new Super Cargo Van. But that has nothing to do with my really awesome readers.

There were three, count 'em, 1, 2, 3 - Barry Manilow Christmas CD's!

Zorak is going to be hating life for a while until I get it out of my system. And the boys are wondering why I laughed so hard at the mail.

But this is really cool.

And to honor the joy, we're going to have a Christmas in June celebration!

I really have the absolute best readers in the world.

Kiss those babies, and a cyber-hug of thanks, guys!! (Two of them came w/o a name attached, just direct mailed from a company, so I'm not sure exactly who to thank. Tara, yours came straight through. Thanks!)

Dy

It doesn't take much.

The contrast between the amount of work it takes to make a home look nice, and the relatively little effort it takes to crap it up again, is shocking.

Zorak borrowed Me-Wa's pressure washer, to cleanse the debris off That 70's Brick, and de-slime the Balcony O'Death. Come to find out, the balcony is much closer to death than we anticipated. I nearly fell through. Zorak nearly fell through. The children pressed their wee faces between the wrought iron bars on the storm door and wished they could try to fall through, also. I guess it looked like fun. So, okay, it isn't any more safe now, but it looks better, smells better, and is less terrifying on a microbial level. It's the small things, sometimes.

We washed the front of the house, hoping to find the magical color that'll tie it all together, hidden somewhere in the brick's many sparkly bits facets. I don't think we found it, although we did mellow the patchwork-coat feel of the brick colors somewhat. What we did find, however, was the magical color hidden beneath the painted trim. It's yellow. That was a surprise.

Oh, and the shutters? We cleaned those. The paint flaked off, revealing another bit of history for the Forever Home. Turns out the shudders (oops, Freudian slip - of course, I meant "shutters") were salvaged from the fire back in 1972. Well, not "salvaged", in the sense that they were saved. But they were kept and reused when the house was re-built. Did you know you could paint over charcoal? And did you know that when you blast the paint off the charcoal, the whole thing disintegrates into a black, oozing mess all over your hedges?

If you'd have pulled up to our place this afternoon, you'd have seen what it probably looks like when sub-contractors riot. But there we stood, ankle deep in green mud, both of us covered in mildew and wood rot, charcoal and paint chips, drinking our coffee and surveying the damage...

"I like the yellow."

"Yeah. That is nice."

I guess it's all about perspective. But the yellow was definitely a surprise.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hooked!

Ha-HA! I love it when my plans come together.

We've been reading Eagle of the Ninth. Not a favorite for many, I know. And I know why. But the story itself (convoluted, dreadfully-Dickensian-attention-to-detail-we-don't-care-about, pain-in-the-butt-to-read-aloud prose aside), is really great. On many levels. I love the *story*. And since I love it, and I am willing to read it aloud, I decided that by-golly, my children will just have to live through it, too.

And they have.

But tonight, when Marcus and Esca spoke with Guern the Hunter for the second time, those little eyes were WIDE OPEN, mouths shut, attention all focused on the story. (And they think I was snuffling over the storyline!)

They asked for a second chapter. (And I'm pretty sure it isn't just to get it over with. I don't think that's dawned on them yet.)

But even if you ignore the adrenaline rush of seeing your children captured by a character, the discussions you can have with them after reading together are equally addicting. "Why did he __________?"

What was the custom? How was it different from the other countries?

What do you think?

What would you do?

Would you have taken on something like this?

No, we aren't going to burn peat in the wood stove this winter.

It's good, good stuff. It's worth slogging through the challenging things, worth pre-reading to get a feel for the flow of the writing, worth having to break it down to just a chapter a day. (Well, that may just be hard on me - I much prefer to let everyone fend for themselves and retread underwear while I finish a book in one sitting than to have to break it into chunks).

It's all worth it to see them make connections, develop empathy, experience the world through a different lense, compare it with what they know to be right or good or true... and then to be there when they share their ideas, develop their thoughts, and come to conclusions.

Man, I love this life!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Baseball Round-Up

Today was the last game of the season, which would lead one (ok, me) to believe that's the end. You know. Of the... season. Ah, to be the uninitiated first-year mom. No, no, silly woman. Now it's time for tournaments.

Tournaments? Didn't we play tournaments back in March?

No, no, those were pre-season tournaments.

As opposed to post-season tournaments?

No, as opposed to tournaments.

Oh. I think I need a sno-cone.

John's team lost today. I don't know the score, but it was by one point. And you know, it was the absolute best game all season. The very best. Both teams played their wee little hearts out. Both sets of coaches were encouraging and nurturing and positive toward their players. The refs were good. The stands were packed. Both teams could field the ball fairly well (for this age bracket), and the spectators on both sides were generous with their applause and shouts of "good play," "way to hustle," and "good swing," no matter which team the children were on. If only there'd been a bit of a breeze, and the Snack Shack hadn't broken the sno-cone machine, it would have been a perfect day.

We have one little roly-poly guy on the team who is just so sweet and has worked so hard this season. All of the kids have improved in some aspect, all of them. But he has really gone above and beyond in several areas. Today he came up to bat in the kind of set-up they put in full Cheez-Whiz sentimental movies: two on base, two outs, bottom of the inning, he had two strikes, and we were down by one. (No pressure!) He smacked that ball like nobody's business and made it to second base, bringing in two runs in the process. The crowd, on both sides of the stands, went absolutely wild. I'm not the only one that got teary-eyed. Granted, the other lady is pregnant and she cried at the last practice, too, but still. It wasn't just me. You could see the smile on his face from clear across the field. We thought for sure he'd get the game ball for that.

But, no. The game ball went to a kid who ran from first to second, freaked out at the dogpile on the baseline in front of second, and bolted back to first. When the kid from the other team started getting close enough to tag him out, he actually tried shoving the girl on first base off the base so he could be safe and she'd... go back to batting? I don't know, but he was pretty certain she didn't need to be there if it would save him. None of us is sure what he did later in the game to earn the gameball. Maybe it was just his willingness to get back out there after being run down and tagged out like that. *shrug*

John came up to bat in the last inning with two outs, and we were down by one again. He hit it and the other team fielded the ball really well. He was out, and my heart sank for him. But he was okay with it. No fits, no ugly conduct. He just gave us his little cockeyed grin that said, "Well, I tried," and we (not just Zorak and James and I, but everybody in the stands) gave him encouragement. I noticed his coach gave him an encouraging pat as he ran back to the dugout, as well. The kid was well over it, and looking forward to a sno-cone by then, but it did a lot for this Mama's heart to see someone else encourage these kids the way I would. It's nice to gather around you that team that's coming from the same place you are, and looking to help encourage your children in the same direction you are encouraging them. That's enough to have made the season worth it, in my opinion.

All the kids did well, and when our guys gave the other team random kudos ("Hey, great game, guys!" and "Congrats. You all played a fantastic game!"), that other team just bubbled with pride. It was the pride of a job well done, too, not a haughty, nasty pride. It was a good thing. Their coaches, their parents, have instilled the kind of sportsmanship in them that more communities need. Good kids, all around. Good game, all around. And I'd say good season, all around... but I'm starting to think it never ends. :-S

We'll have two in football this fall, and it looks like we may have three in baseball next spring. It's catching!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Our Night

"You know what might be kind of fun this year? Let's not wait until the 19th to plan John's birthday party." (It's the 20th.)

"Yeah. We could try that."

***********************************

"Hey, can we paint a skull and crossbones on the dog for the party?"

"Sure. We'll cut off a leg, too. And give him a peg leg. No, a hook!"

"We could poke his eye out, too, while we're at it."

***********************************

"...not a grammatition. Or is it a grammarian?"

"I dunno. Grammatard?"

***********************************

"Do you think the smell is God's way of punishing you for farting in the first place?"

***********************************

"Wanna help me blog tonight?"

"Sure. I've thought up some new ethnic jokes you could try out."

*blink* *blink* "What?"

"No. Not really."

***********************************

"Man, Balto really smells funny."

*sniff* "OH, GOD, he got skunked! Get him out of here!"

"Huh. I knew something wasn't right."

***********************************

The boys and I made a "Top 10 Things We Love About Dad" list for his birthday. I mentioned his sense of humor. John and Smidge gave that an enthusiastic thumbs up. James replied, "Yeah, he's usually pretty funny."

2.5 out of 3 isn't bad.

***********************************

"Wow. That sounds like the Marshall Tucker Band."

"This is the Marshall Tucker Band doing Cheap Trick?"

"No. It's Dwight Yoakam doing the Marshall Tucker Band doing Cheap Trick."

"What'd we pay for this?"

************************************

And this was a quiet night.

Kiss those babies! (And no, the dog wasn't harmed in the making of the party plans. But he IS sleeping outside tonight.)

Dy

Oh, I'm not a technical person.

I thought I might fiddle with the camera card while I had the house to myself. Well, there's been a whole lotta fiddlin' but no music. I've just spent the last hour on Fuji's website trying to find out if there are others or if I'm the only moron to do this to not one, but now two cards.

The old card that was dying, but I reformatted and renamed Lazarus... is now "not initialized". I've no idea how to "initialize it", but I'm terrified to try to fix it, because that horrid Kodak Queasy-Share software lost the batch of pictures it sniped from that card when we got back. The rock pictures? Gone. The baby eating yellow flower shot? Gone. (You didn't see that one, but it was cute. I was going to blog it this afternoon, which is how I discovered it's GONE.) My hope is that they're still on that card somewhere, because they are NOWHERE TO BE FOUND on the computer.

And the big card that will not be formatted, no matter how nicely I ask? No clue what's up with that. So, I've written to FujiFilm. I'm hoping they will help me. Here's my email:

I own a Fine Pix S 5100 digital camera. Have had it for years. Love it. I received recently a new FujiFilm XD-Picture Card (DCP-1GB), which I immediately inserted into my camera and began taking pictures on it. Camera identified card. Card, camera. No errors. Life was good. Until I tried to upload the photos to my PC (Dell something or other, Windows XP Home - please don't tell me that's the problem). My computer (never one to make small talk) said, "Card not formatted." Huh. I never formatted previous FujiFilm cards. Never had this problem. Had to take the card to a photo shop to save to a disk without formatting it (which worked, but not quite what we're shooting for, here). Took the card back home to the computer. "OK, format it," I said. "Cannot format," said the computer. I can take pictures on the card, and they'll show up on the TV, on the camera, and on a disk, but I cannot get them off without taking them to Wal-Mart, whereupon I get stuck w/ Kodak Easy Share Software. I don't want Kodak, I like my Fine Pix Viewer. I just want my pictures. But I can't figure out how to get them off this card. I'd be willing to suck it up and take the Kodak for this one batch, but how can I fix the card so that I can use it in the future? Can I format it on my camera? (If so, how?) Am I doomed to use Kodak anyway? Any way you could help me? I make a mean chocolate cake, and I'm nice to tech support people. Please help.
Dy

They'll either take pity on me and throw me a technical bone, or they'll laugh morbidly and toss it into the circular file. I can hope, though, can't I?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Random Dental News

Is it a bad sign that I actually look forward to dentist visits now because it means I'll have a guaranteed half hour between prying/propping sessions to get a little extra reading done?

The visit went well. You know, for a trip to the dentist. They did have a heck of a time fitting the crown, but not because of my opossum gums*. It was because they've got a new girl. She must be new. Please let her be new. (I don't know her title, sorry. Honestly, I can't tell you what half the people in a dentist's office do - I think they're extras, except that one at the end of the hall who never moves. She may be a prop.) She kept pulling on the wrong tooth. I tried pointing it out (the big wobbly one in the back, not the solid firm one near the front), but that didn't do any good, and when I became afraid she'd actually get the wrong tooth out, I just pulled the temp off for her. Anyway, she scraped the adhesive cement off the tooth, but left a big chunk of on, so the crown didn't fit. It was like someone had slipped Teddy Roosevelt's tooth into my mouth. It took them a long time (and filing most of the crown) before they called in Dr. New Dentist. He spotted the problem immediately, inspected the crown, gave the New Girl the hairy eyeball, and plopped it in place. Then they turned New Girl loose on me with the scraper to get the cement off my gums. Next time I think I'll just opt for skin irritation and abrasion at home to get it off.

Filled a tooth. This is the first time since we've been here that all the scheduled events actually took place. The old dentist was notorious for scheduling A and B, but then only getting around to B. By the time a few small problems got addressed, multiple schedulings later, they were no longer small problems. It felt good to walk out of there with everything done that ought to have been done. Yay. I like this place, New Girl and all.

Next visit: the root scaling. Yeah, the fun never stops.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy


*opossum gums - they play dead

Watermelon!

Before we left, we broke out a watermelon and enjoyed the absolutely exquisite phenomenon known as Spring Evening in the South. She enjoyed it tremendously, and just acted as if she'd never had this delightful ambrosia before. Then it hit us... she'd never had this delightful ambrosia before. Her first watermelon!


She's also a ham. If she even sees the camera come up to your face, she'll stop what she's doing to shout, "cheese!"

Of course, it doesn't have to be your first watermelon in order to really be able to dive in...

One of the things I love about watching the children is just how whole-heartedly they immerse themselves in what they're enjoying. It's a good reminder for me, anyway. Nothing tastes as sweet, is as much fun, or means as much as what you're sinking your teeth into right this very minute. We just need to make sure we fill those minutes with the good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey

"Mommy, me love Aunt Salwey. Me want hers to be at ours house. Yous call her?"

Yeah, that's not a Pittsburgh accent. We're still working on the speech thing. And pronoun mutilation aside, why throw a "w" in where it's more difficult to pronounce? I can't even say "Sally" with a "w". But Smidge seems to think it's just gotta be in there. And he loves his Aunt Salwey. So who am I to argue with a stray consonant? It's good to be loved.

We got back to the grind today. I'd have thought it was simply "the routine", but according to James, when Zorak asked if they did school today, it was much, much worse. "Oh, yeah! We did school. We did a whole lot of school." Huh. I didn't think it was *that* bad, but I, evidently, am not an expert.

We also made KathyJo's "muffins". (You know, in an attempt to lessen the severity of the torture of today's lessons.) I can't even say with a straight face that they're muffins. Iced muffins? No. I don't care what she tells you, those 'er c-u-p-c-a-k-e-s, if they're anything this side of haggis. Trust me. Make them. Wallow in them. Roll around in them and get them in your hair. They're to. die. for. I'm going to try to make a "pan muffin" (*snort* ok, a cake) out of them later this week. Ironically, with the bean flours (because no, I haven't been out to buy more grains yet lately, so they aren't quinoa, but who's keeping track?) they've still got more protein and fiber than colon-binding-whole-wheat, full-fiber-assault-bran muffins. So really, what's a few sprinkles and icing among family, right?

And just to show you how incredibly dull (well, dull aside from the muffin ecstasty of mid-morning - after that, it pretty much went downhill) our day was, the big super-exciting highlight of the whole. entire. day. is that Zorak brought home a sample of a store-bought, gluten-free, profesionally decorated cake tonight. We found the place a while ago, and thought that if the cakes were good, we'd get one of those for the team party. He stopped in today and she gave him a sample to bring home. Huge excitement, there, yes, over a slice of cake smaller than a stumpy cupcake. But we all tried a bite and John got to lick the plate. Survey says: Mom's is better. Ok, ok, I shouldn't be quite so tickled with that. I really shouldn't. I know. But still... *hee hee* They like my stuff! The thousands of dollars we've put into gummy, lumpy failed experiments paid off tonight, when they led the clan to say that my cakes were better than a pro's. *contented sigh* I tried a bite, and it was pretty good. The icing was scrumptious, and everything she makes is made from scratch. She (she, being "the cake lady") just hasn't quite mastered "cake" texture yet, so it was like a two-layer brownie with mocha icing. Seriously, who's going to complain about that? Yeah. It was good. (But they like my cakes better.)

Oh, oh, oh. I almost forgot. I was supposed to call my new dentist today because 1) I couldn't remember when my appt. is for setting the new crown, and 2) I popped the temporary crown off on the flight TO New Mexico and figured I ought to at least let them know about that. Well, they beat me to it when the gal at the front desk called this morning to remind me about my appointment tomorrow afternoon (egads, better find someone to watch the kids, quick!) to set the crown. So I filled her in, let her know that I'd popped the temp., and asked if that was going to be a problem. She's so sweet, but the conversation gave me many random chuckles throughout the day.

Nice Office Girl: Do you still have it?

Me: Do you need it?

Nice Office Girl: Is it in now?

Me: Huh? No. It's somewhere... in the diaper bag.

Nice Office Girl: Did you try to put it back on?

Me: *choking on my coffee* What?

Nice Office Girl: Did you try to put it back on with anything?

Me: Um... no?

Nice Office Girl: You know, like with toothpaste or something to hold it on?

Me: (*internally* Uh, your professional-grade two-ton epoxy didn't work, what would make me think a little Tom's would do the trick?) *aloud, I said* Um... what?

Nice Office Girl: *long, awkward pause* So... you didn't put it back on?

Me: *chuckle* No. I didn't put it back on.

Nice Office Girl: Well, you could try that.

Me: *long, awkward pause* Aren't I coming in tomorrow for the permanent crown?

Nice Office Girl: Yes, that's why I called.

*pause for the connection to be made*

*connection is never made*

Me: Ok, well, we'll, uh, thanks for the reminder call. I'll see ya tomorrow, then. Have a good one.

Nice Office Girl: You, too, Mrs. Dy. See you tomorrow.

Did I miss something, there? I mean, I don't know what the ramifications are of not having a temporary crown ON the tooth. But it's smooth, sealed, and doesn't hurt. And really, toothpaste? For a ten-day trip? Biting down on one of those things the first time it pops off is bad enough. Can you imagine setting yourself up for it every. time. you ate? And I'm still not entirely clear why she thought I ought to put it on today, but she didn't think it was a good idea to fill me in, so hopefully it's not that important. I'm going to feel pretty goofy if I get in tomorrow and they tell me the bone structure in my entire lower jaw will have to be rebuilt because I didn't have the temporary crown all this time. Oops.

Anyway, dishwasher's running, house is quiet. I'm going to finish this pot off, blogrun a bit, and head to bed. Hopefully we'll find our groove again soon and I can spend more time on the creative and technological side of blogging for a while. (As opposed to the Spartan, only-blogging-to-be-blogging side of it, right?)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A lot like this

Right now, the amount of work that lies before us after our absence feels a lot like this. But, she made it to the top, and so will we.

And the view looking back at all the work you've done...

Wow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Sweet Home!

Hi guys! It's one o'clock, and we are home. The bug bombs have been picked up, sheets switched out, coffee made (duh), and the kids are all sound asleep in their own beds. EmBaby was the only one still awake when we pulled in. It was fun to see her reaction. We stood on the porch (oh, the porch is lovely, by the way!) as she gazed into the house, then she pointed, "In!" She ran about, touching everything, talking to herself (reacquainting herself with the lay of the land? I don't know what she was talking about) while we got things up and running.

You know, the house looks nicer than I remembered. That's sort of a good feeling to walk in and say, "Hey, this is nice! We'd buy this place if it was on the market." ;-)

I don't think we left anything. That'd be a first. (Ack, no. Zorak just reminded me that we left a box of wipes at a cousin's house. Oh, and a shoe. But we actually *lost* the shoe, didn't forget it. So that doesn't count.)

Smidge learned first-hand how bad a goat head hurts in your foot (the burr, Jess, he didn't actually step on the goats in Corona). Poor little guy. (Picture from the Department of Horticulture and Crop Science The Ohio State University - they seem to be the only ones who willingly photographed anything other than the deceptively lovely yellow flowers on those things.)

Zorak scored on the goodies haul. He got a new shotgun (well, inherited-new, not new-new), and two big bags of calf fries. When the TSA folks asked what was in the cooler, he said, "beef". I'm really kinda glad I didn't hear that one, or I'd have started giggling enough to make us all look suspicious. I mean, yeah, it's beef... technically. I'm going to have to brace myself for this one. It's been six years since the "roasted heart" incident, and I've only just recovered. So, if anyone is up for a big calf fry supper, come on down! Third hillbilly shack on the right as you head out of town.

OK, ok, time for bed. Will see if Kodak will release my images to me tomorrow. It's good to be home!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hi.

Well, I had grand plans to blog the trip. But that would take internet access, something which I haven't had since we left. Oops.

We are in The Land of Enchantment, busily procuring all manner of chile-induced intestinal distress, performing pigmentation experiments on all the children (it doesn't look like EmBaby has any pigmentation at all and Smidge is just about coffee-bean brown), and riding the adventure of trying to see every. cousin. we. have. in just a few short days. It's wonderful!! And we shall soon see if that "unlimited mileage" feature on the rental car is true.

A brief synopsis is probably in order.

Thursday: flew to New Mexico. Did not get flagged for any "special" searches, yay. Didn't get flack from the TSA about flying with a firearm. Yay. Eldest child did not make C-4/string cheese jokes going through security. (Triple yay.) Missed connecting flight (boo - hiss), but if you've got to be stuck for three hours in an airport with four children and a cranky husband, DFW is the one to do it in (yay!)

Friday: arrived in New Mexico WAY too late at night/early morning. Within minutes of arriving, Emily fell off bed (thus producing the first bruise of the trip. She has since obtained one bruise per stop the entire trip. We may get stopped by security on the way home if she keeps this up). Ate green chile products. Slept late. Loaded up, and headed to the City of Rocks.

Fri-Sun: camped out. (I use the term loosely - it was more like having a portable four-star suite at our disposal than actual camping.) Did not see much of the children as they and their cousins hit the ground running and returned to camp only for food, water, and maps. No internet. No cell phone service. Great company, grilled foods and good wine. Fantastic time had by all.

Sunday PM: returned to civilization, spent the entire time sitting and visiting. Kids kept busy. Good stuff. Got to spend time with Gram, and meet Aunt B's Wonderful Neighbors.

Monday: Trekked to Lincoln County to see Great-Granny (Zorak's Granny). More cousins. More running amok for the children. Emily became possessed by what we thought initially was a demon, but turned out to be only a one-two attack of teething and allergies. Cancelled exorcist.

Tuesday: Drove way-way-way-the-he...ck to the farthest, most remote corner of New Mexico to see Willy & Shell's house (that sounds like the name of a band from the 70's - one of the pitfalls of coming up w/ nicknames in the middle of the night). Lovely house. Wonderful time. Again with the cousins and the running. Dinosaur tracks. Basset hounds. Brisket.

Wednesday: Stayed at Willy & Shell's until bedtime. (This was my brilliant idea.) Drove way-way-way... yeah, well, we're back down south-ish now, at Granny's. (You may remember her from the Favorite Mom poll of '07.) The children are wallowing in the joy that is SuperGranny. We're having a wonderful time, but I really miss my front porch. And my bed. And the dog. Not throwing away the number for that exorcist, either.

We'll head out for Cruces tomorrow afternoon. The boys want to go w/ Granny on her bus route in the morning. (That's one way to address the "but they'll never be able to ride the school bus" argument. There are definite perks to having a Granny who owns her own bus.) And horseback riding. I think. We fly home on Saturday. The housesitters said the house is fine and doesn't really miss us at all. Nor does the dog, which is probably just what you want when you're on the road. It's nice to know things are well cared-for.

So, that's it, in a nutshell. We'll soon be home, rehydrating and wishing we'd finished that second bathroom by now. See ya soon!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hi all...

Just slipping in nonchalantly to, um, procrastinate a bit. I think I'm done messing up Emily's kitchen, now. And the laundry is done (at least at my house, I don't know about hers). The bathroom's clean. The guest room's clean. BabyGirl's room is clean. Life is lookin' better all the time!

The boys are outside. They helped until lunch, and they were so diligent and didn't whine (even when I wanted to) that I just had to turn them loose to run and play for the rest of the day. It sounds like they're having fun out there, too, but I'm... I'm... I think I'm ready to get up and do a little more.

Am I the only one who likes to come home to a clean house? To the point of making everybody else nuts in the last few days before a trip? It's worth the insanity to drag a travel-weary body into a clean and inviting home at the end of a long day. Preferably, a home that says, "Hey! I've missed you guys! Come on in. The beds are ready. The dishes are clean, and if you'll give the coffee pot a minute, he'll have a little somethin' for you."

Yeah, I'm glad we bought a house that can talk.

But now it's whispering that it's bigger than I think and I'd best get off my duff and finish or I... *gulp* won't finish. (Well, that sounded far more sinister than it did in my head. The voice isn't threatening me, just warning me that I may have to leave something unmopped or unwashed.)

Ah, yeah, I'll be going now.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I love that man.

Tonight, amidst all the "fun" of roasting marshmallows and moths outside, I hopped back into the house for more coffee. It wasn't until I was all the way in the kitchen again that I heard a creepy scritching sound following me. It sped up when I did, stopped when I did.

I could still hear the children laughing in the yard, which meant either Zorak was behind me, or they hadn't seen the mass murderer enter the house. But *something* was wrong. I could even feel it in my back and right leg.

Step.
Scritch.
Step-step.
Scritch-scritch.

I think my body is starting to slip into paralysis! I can hardly lift my leg now!

*schloop-scritch*

Wait. Just. One. Second.

*peek*

Sure enough, I somehow managed to step on a melted marshmallow. And then on about two inches of leaf debris on my way to the porch. That would account for the scritching, the discomfort in my right leg (which was hefted up a good two inches), and the trouble lifting said leg. But what could possibly account for the fact that I didn't think to look under my foot to begin with?

*sigh* I don't know.

I scraped most of it off, then the small ones came at me with their flaming trophies and I had to hot-foot it back outside before they set fire to the floor or the curtains. And then there was bedtime, and laundry. And that death nap thing with the Elmo chair. The shoe lay, forgotten and sticky, in the kitchen.

Just now, Zorak asked if I wanted to go see the progress on the railings. Yeah, but I've got to mess with my shoe first. I stepped on something...

"I know," he said, smiling and pouring coffee. "I already cleaned it."

Oh. *sniff* I love you! I have to go blog this. *sniff*

But now I have to go because he took the coffee and left for the porch without me. He was muttering something about "addictions" and "obsessive behavior". Huh. Wonder what that meant? We'll blog about it later, right?

Dy

Top Ten Ways I Procrastinate

You know, I really shouldn't get on the boys about procrastinating. Ever. I have absolutely no right. Oh, sure, I get all noble and righteous about how I don't want them to make the same mistakes I've made. But the truth of the matter is that they are going to have to take care of me in my old age, and I have no desire to suffer hallucinations, thinking I've been left in a cave because they keep putting off giving me my medications or taking me out for an airing.

I should be cleaning.
I should be packing.
I should be digging up forms of identification.

But is that what I did tonight?
Of course not.

I played with the squash (fresh ginger and garlic - almost a big hit).

I okay'd the roasting of the marshmallows in the front yard. (Yep, that desperate not to have to do anything productive.)

And then, just to prove a point and win my medal, I fell asleep arched backwards across a foam Elmo chair in the boys' room. Perhaps that'll get me a silver. If I'd been truly dedicated to not being up and mobile, I'd have gone that extra mile and drowned in my own spit or something, considering the angle of my head and such.

Ah, well. OK. So I'll be productive tomorrow. What do you do to put off the less pleasant tasks?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy