Five Years, Already...

You're five. How can that be? Weren't you just a little peanut of a guy? Yet here you are, so big, so full of humor and curiosity and affection. You're not a baby, anymore, that's for sure, but you're still my Sweet Smidge.
Five years ago, you were our "Baby", the youngest of three, our last child. In five years, you've learned so much (aside from the fact that your parents cannot count). Now, you're a Big Brother, yourself. You're smack dab in the middle of this crazy family, and you have us all wrapped up in those big, brown eyes, that contagious cackle, that dimple that has a stronger draw than a rare earth magnet. Gah, I can get absolutely lost in you, you know that?

Now, you can actually hang with the big boys all day long. Yet you can tumble with the little ones and enjoy a good picture book like nobody's business. You're so very good at being You.

You love to hold JT and make him laugh. You love to be the one to help EmBaby reach the things she cannot. You love to go to Scouts with your brothers, "just to watch," and you could probably tell me at any given moment how many days are left until you turn seven and can join on your own. You make us laugh. Sometimes without even trying.

You're so sweet. Such a sensitive soul. Sometimes you are so empathetic, and your kindhearted nature makes me want to burst with affection. And sometimes, like when you cry until you puke, it makes me want to burst a blood vessel.

And you are so completely genuine and easy-going. I don't know what we've done to deserve a child who is so willing to say, "I forgive you," or, "that's okay". (We don't deserve you, if we're being honest, but we're not giving you back.) You're usually the first to apologize, the first to suggest solutions to challenges. You're the first to find the silver lining while the rest of us are still complaining about the clouds or the rain. You always make us shake our heads and muse, "Man, he's a great kid."

When your brother wanted to help decorate your cake today, you didn't get clutched up over it (like some mother might...), you said, "Sure, you can help!" Wow. You're really cool. The cake looked great, too. But even better was the sight of the two of you, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing exciting things and encouraging one another. I didn't get a photograph of it, but I'll have the picture in my head for a very long time. Your brothers had a really great time picking out your gifts this year. They knew just what you wanted, and just what colors you'd like the best. I think they kind of like you, you know.

And now, you have arrows, an armguard, a quiver... and you get to help make your very first bow. When did you get so big? You plan this year to learn to ride a two-wheel bike, and learn to read. You still want to go to the beach, "when the hurricanes are done". (Good call, by the way.) I think this will be a wonderful year for you. And I know, as long as you're with us, it'll be a wonderful year for us.

Happy Fifth Birthay, Smidge!!! We love you so much!

Love,

Mom, Dad, James, John, Emily, and Jason

*P.S. No, they aren't partaking of herbal medicinals in that picture. It's the opiate of cake icing that they're enjoying - it is evidently much more potent when sucked off the end of a candle than it is when eaten straight off the cake. I don't get it, but don't they all look completely taken up with - and wholeheartedly savoring - what they're doing?

Just For Fun

Because sometimes, we need that.

When the older boys were wee ones, there were certain things we could not mention in their hearing. This went beyond Christmas gifts and various hallucinogenic holiday characters. A mere mention of the name,"Bob the Builder" would send the boys into fits of excitement, insisting that they must return home right that instant to watch Bob. That was exhausting. So, we took to calling him "Robert the Construction Worker".

This little slight-of-tongue worked so well that we expanded our code to include other things.

"Playgroup" became "frolick collective", "ice cream" might be "frozen bovine excretion" (hah - like they'd ever have figured that one out!) For years, Zorak and I have been able to create our own cryptic dialogue for just about anything, without fear of discovery. Now that the older two are, well, older, they're catching on. And they're pretty good at it.

For instance, Smidge wants to go to Chuck E. Cheese for his birthday. (Granted, I'd much rather let a street vendor in Juarez perform liposuction on my butt than spend the day there, but you know I'll go.) The real question was when we'd go, my main criteria being that Zorak has to go with us, since he's the one who introduced the vile place to the children, to begin with. At supper tonight, I asked Zorak if we should hit the "Italian Rodent's Lair" on Saturday. He processed the request, and replied in the affirmative. That was about the time James burst out laughing. He then said, "Oh, do you mean...

...and he made a wretching motion, a surprized motion, and shouted
"Mozzarella!"

I just about died laughing. It wasn't subtle, but it was good. Our code has been broken, and none of our secrets are safe. But it's worth it to have let him in on the game. This is what allows me to enjoy them well beyond the fuzzy infant, the insane toddler, the funny preschooler ages. We're raising adults, and from the looks of it, we're raising pretty good-natured ones, to boot.

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This is Smidge's Pear. He smelled the blossom. He watched it die back. He squealed and giggled and leapt up and down as the fruit began to form beneath the remains of the flower. This one was his. And he managed to not pick it, not pester it to death, not lose it to deer or siblings or foul winds. All. Season. Long. Sweet, sweet reward. **************************************************************

And this is John's latest find. Looks an awful lot like a chicken head, doesn't it? Complete with one buggy eye, and everything. He was quite proud, and wanted a picture before he ate it. (I have never been so tempted to call the National Enquirer, in my life, but John really didn't want to wait to hear back from them.) He found another one in the same batch that looked, as he put it, "More like a goose than a chicken. A really small goose."

***************************************************************
Yes, this is how we spend our days sometimes. Laughing at inside jokes, taking pictures of weird foodstuffs, and enjoying everything we've put into all of it. Good stuff, indeed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

More From the Non-Agrarians

OK, so I, the Non-Farmer, came to terms with the sooty blotch and the flyspeck. But this... I'm not handling this well, at all. I don't know what it is, for certain. For now, I'm just calling it the Plague of Apple Death. Is it Cedar Apple Rust? Gah. It's hideous, whatever it is. (Please don't ask me if it's soft. I can tell you now I did not touch it. I'm not going to touch it. I didn't even want to stand under it to take the picture.)

Look at that a little more closely. Ew. That's all one can really say. Ew.

I fear my hopes of hot apple pies, baked apples, and fresh applesauce have been dashed for the year. If that IS Cedar Apple Rust, then those dreams are dashed for the future, as well, because I asked Zorak today if we can cut down the cedar tree, and as it turns out, he loves that cedar tree. He loves it so much, his voice rose an octave as he told me he loves it. That's a lotta love. You know, for a tree.

So, in an effort to comfort myself, I rounded up any children who weren't sleeping, and made them help me pick the pears. Before some kind of mildewy-gut-rot gets to them, too.

For one neglected, 45ft. tall tree, I can't complain about this year's harvest. Heck, two years ago, we didn't even know what kind of a tree this is! So, we've been pruning and hacking and praying. This is the first year we've had fruit from it.

This shot was taken about halfway through the picking. We got about that much, again, and then Zorak made us stop. It probably had something to do with the fact that I have no idea what we're going to do with all these pears. Or perhaps it was when I mentioned that after you pick them, you have to let them ripen for a week or two. There are another couple dozen pears still on the tree, but I suspect they'll remain there until the boys and I figure out what to do with them and where to put them.

Oh, well, it was fun. And it took my mind off all those apple pies I'm not going to be able to make this year. *sigh* For a while it did, anyway. By the way, I'm really enjoying Picasa's new functions and upgrades. Hopefully, this collage will be a clickable link, because it's really neat-o full-size! (Whoa, and was it HUGE! Edited to tame the beast a bit... edited again to apologize - now it's a manageable size, but it's no longer clickable. No clue what the problem is. Probably operator error of some kind... *sheepish grin*)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Emily's Choices

One of the topics on the table this week is what everybody wants to be for Halloween. This year, Em's chiming in with some suggestions of her own:

* RD22 (I botched this originally, and what I meant didn't translate into writing - we envision this more like "Arty Tutu" - perhaps it's Desmond's less politically oriented brother, or weird uncle. She may mean the robot, but we think "Arty" would be more fun.)

* Tinker Pan

Should be an interesting Halloween...

(Zorak is ALL about going with the Tinker Pan outfit - green tights, wings, feathered cap and sparkly glitter... how much easier could it be, right?)

Kiss those babies!
Dy

How Do You Like Your Beans?

Jenni asked for bean ideas. I will share my *one* method of cooking beans, and then I'm going to have to beg the rest of you to chime in with your faves because otherwise, she's going to be on her own, here.

We eat pintos. That's pretty much it. And we eat the pintos cooked pretty much one way. It's delicious, and, obviously, we're okay with it, but since the question was about variety, this doesn't exactly answer the question. (I love other beans, and other methods of preparing them. But I'm the only one, really. Hillbilly Housewife's Baked Beans give me happy little daydreams. Nothing makes me smile quite like a navy bean and ham soup. Lentils, yum! However, for the day-to-day bean eatin', this is how it gets done around here.)

Sort your beans. Be sure to set aside the magic beans. (These are any that are significantly different from all the other beans in the bag. Might be a piece of corn or barley, a black bean, or just one of a different color or size than all the others. I like the mostly-white ones. James likes the darker ones. The boys all like the really large ones. Zorak and I get a kick out of the itty bitty ones. Make your own magic, it's all good.) Rinse. Cover with cold water.

Theoretically, you allow them to sit all night. (We never remember in time. So, we boil them for a while.) Then drain and rinse. Rinse well, as this helps counter the, erm, side effects of eating beans. Refill the pot, add chile powder, paprika (this adds an absolutely gorgeous color to it!), and a titch of garlic and salt. *Side Note: some people have severely erm, adverse reactions to garlic salt or onion salt. Use fresh to avoid that.*

I used to add bacon to the beans. However, I have a bad habit of not putting the pot into the fridge before I go to bed, and I got tired of having to throw out most of a pot of beans because of that. When cooked without meat, they can survive the occasional absentmindedness. ;-) I haven't really noticed much difference in the flavor, either, except that they're a little more flexible in adding to other foods, now.

Cook until done.

This recipe pretty well lends itself to whatever you want to add to it at the table. They're easily convertible to make an excellent side dish, or a main dish. Depends how you dress 'em up. Chopped onion, grated cheese, salsa, sour cream... tabasco, cajun seasoning, Greek seasoning... Eat it with cornbread, or tortillas... Add ground beef and call it chili. Add green chiles and tomatoes and call it... um, beans with green chiles and tomatoes. Mash them with a little lard or oil in a skillet and you have unbeatable refried beans.

What do you like to do with your beans?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Roundup

My morning consisted of feeding the baby, changing the baby, blowing noses, admiring Lego contraptions, trying to convince EmBaby to let Daddy put her hair up, watching a play called "The mouse and the mom" (starring a mouse from Mousetrap and a Queen from one of the chess sets), hearing a few great riddles, and sampling a pear from the tree. Not a bad morning, considering I was supposed to be sleeping in. You know, rest up, heal, that kind of stuff.

But that just doesn't happen unless you have a doctor telling the father of your children that you will die if you don't get rest. (Fear of doing it on your own is quite the motivator - for Moms and Dads, alike!) And so, since I don't have an official death diagnosis, I was already up when one of my favorite people called to chat. Her call gave me an excuse at least to hide on the balcony and talk shop with a hot cup of coffee, relatively unmolested. Probably did more for my recovery than anything else has, to tell you the truth.

It's about 8:30 now. We had 15-bean soup and drop biscuits for supper. The boys made it, and it was fantastic.

There's venison jerkey in the oven, jerking... (that doesn't sound right).

The kids are about ready for a story, and the linens are in the dryer (The Urinator struck again - it's like living with an angry, incontinent cat).

I have a bow quiver and a finger tab to sew up this weekend, and a few more projects along those lines. Zorak is hoping to do a little dove hunting, as well. John's stoked. James is compliant. Smidge just wants to come along.

He's funny. We could be heading out to embalm month-old cadavers, and he'd want to come along.

He didn't get to help make the soup or biscuits tonight, but he's okay with that because he and I will make banana bread in the morning. I'm not sure he realizes that means he's not going hunting. Hopefully, he'll clue in to that just about the time we're drizzling icing on a loaf of fresh bread and I can distract him further with a few gooey smiley faces and a beso.

Tonight James mentioned how easy it must be to keep a clean home if you aren't married and don't have children. That's true, definitely. But it's not a worthwhile trade-off at all. Fortunately, he's the one who pointed that out, as well. I'm glad they know that. I hope they always know that.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

My Head Is Like This Right Now

There's some really good stuff in there, but I have no clue how to get at it.

Day six of this plague. The children are fine. Zorak is much improved. I. Am. Dying. I talked to the children's director at church today. She said everyone at church has had it, too. She also said when it hits your chest, you're almost through. If that's true, then we should all be well, or dead, by Sunday. Either way, we all look forward to some resolution, here.

She'd called because she wanted to let me know the church's Christmas play preparations began last night. So... this is what life is like for non-procrastinators? While I'm at the market, mocking the stores for putting out Halloween candy, other (more organized) people are planning for Christmas. Wow. I... I don't think I'll ever be one of those people. However, the three boys have indicated that they'd like to be involved in the production. John wants more information before making a decision one way or the other. (His main concern was that this will not extend into baseball practice, "right?" Right.) James heard there is a Narrator part, and he's set his sights on that. Smidge just overheard his brothers and wants to be One of Them. So. There ya go. Come Sunday, I will be playing the part of an Organized Mom, gathering information and penciling into my calendar the schedule for the auditions on Wednesday. Then I plan to go to the store and spend half an hour wandering around wondering why none of the summer stuff is on sale yet. (Ha. Yet. They got rid of all of it last weekend, I know. *sigh* I know.)

Smidge turns five this month. He has given me a beautiful lesson on Perspective this year. He has instituted a new ritual, in honor of this merry event. Each morning, he slips into my room while I sleep, gets right. in. my. face. and then says, in a restrained whisper (which is pretty creepy when that's the sound that wakes you from a deep slumber), "Six more days." OK, something that cryptic, said in a snakey-sounding whisper at six in the morning... that'll really mess up your early AM groove, you know that? I'm sure he's convinced that I am not looking forward to his birthday. He's wrong. I am. For, after his birthday, we can go back to our regularly scheduled six AM wake-up calls, which consist of three or more children standing at the foot of my bed, yelling, "Mom! Can we have some food?" It's all about perspective. That which was once irritating will now be appreciated for its non-shudder-inducing qualities. Good Morning!!

Been following the news, but evidently not the calendar (in spite of my daily warnings), as tonight I asked Zorak what time MadTV would be on. He looked at me with such gentle pity before he answered. I don't know if the pity was because I had no idea what day it was, or because he just didn't want to have to tell me that MadTV wouldn't be on for another 48 hours yet. Either way, I realized I'm still not functioning on all eight cylinders. So I leave you with the promise of what is to come (rather than the haze of what is at the moment...)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Our Long Weekend.

We were all looking forward to a long weekend, co-oping home repairs with Ben and Claudia, and rounding it up with a BBQ and ice cream. We sure needed all three days, but not for the reasons we planned -- we all got sick. Saturday, none of us could muster any getupngo at all. The whole day felt like we were running in place. Saturday night, Zorak announced, "I'm sick." He meant it! He went to bed and we didn't see him again until this morning.

By then, it had hit Jase and Em, and me, and although I'd missed Zorak, I just felt too miserable to really be expressive about his return from the cave. Em felt so bad that she crawled in our bed around ten this morning and didn't get out until time for supper, a little after six tonight. Hallelujah, she was still dry! I wanted to climb in with her and sleep, but truthfully, I was afraid of what I'd find, so I toughed it out.

In other news...


The guys got down to the garden today to pick. So far, the only things they've brought up from the garden are cucumbers, zucchini, and okra. (Yep, them're some big cukes and zucchini. We aren't just that good, we're just that slow. They should've been picked last week sometime.) I asked Zorak if the snow peas didn't make it. He said they did, but Smidge eats them all while they're working in the garden, so there aren't any to bring up. I guess that's a sign that we need to plant more of those next year.


We still can't figure out if the pears are ready to pick yet. We figure the apples won't be ready until... early October, perhaps? (Any north/central Alabama gardeners out there who would like to chime in on estimated harvest times?)


It's okay. The pies can wait. Right now, I'm off to enjoy some Advil Cold & Sinus and a eucalyptus steambath. Because no matter how bad you feel, those kids still need to eat sometime, right? I hope it works!


Kiss those babies!
~Dy

He's actually very happy.

I was having some fun editing photos, and I loved how this one turned out. I call it "60's Dad".

Don't let the photos I post fool you. Zorak actually has a beautiful smile, and a wonderful laugh, both of which he shares freely and often with us in life. They are two of the things I love about him. But for some reason he really dislikes it when I come at him with the camera. I suspect he'd rather I trap him in the bathroom, reading Shakespeare excerpts to him through the door all afternoon. He and EmBaby were laughing when I squatted down for this shot. He saw me, and suddenly went all 1800's portraiture on me. *shrug* That's okay. It's still a shot of three of my favorite people. I love the way she looks at him. And I don't know what was up with Jase at the time - doesn't look like he's partial to the stroller. Or perhaps he's developing a sense about when Mom squats down with that black thing over her face...

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Never Stop Being Willing to Smile

We're still exhausted, but we're back in the swing of things. Piano, scouts, school, chores. It's good, but it feels a little Blah. Today, it felt a little oh-so-help-me-I-can-send-you-to-Mexico-and-start-over! Still, there's plenty to make us smile. Today was grocery day, which means fresh fruits and milk - that makes us smile. Tomorrow is Friday, bringing us three days with Zorak and with friends - that makes us smile.
AND, we discovered where Santa works in the off-season!
Check it out:

That *has* to be the REAL Santa, right there. He was jolly and sweet, too.
(Just like I knew he'd be! *sniff, sniff*)

Aunt Linda also had a really great time. You just have to love this shot. Zorak had taken Em on the elephant ride, and when he got off, he said, "Man, that ride is AWESOME! You guys have to check it out!" (Evidently, it goes surprisingly fast for a kiddie ride, and you can control how high your elephant goes. Always a bonus.) Aunt Linda took him up on it.

Be willing to laugh. Be willing to enjoy these things. Oh, it's so worth it! (And then, when you have days like we had today, you can draw on the laughter and the memories and push through. You know, instead of just leaving the children strategically along the market aisles until they start to think you might really leave them and decide to shape up.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Getting in the Picture

Donna posted a wonderful tidbit about getting in the picture *now* - don't put it off until you've lost weight, or done your hair, or whatever reason you give yourself for not wanting to have your picture taken. She's right. She's so very right. I have very few photographs of my own Mother, and perhaps two of her together with me. I wish I had more of them. She was beautiful. Sometimes, however, the problem isn't so much a reluctance to be photographed...

It would seem that some of us are just a bit too, erm, animated to be photographed. And when the photographer isn't really paying attention to the Mommy (who can blame him, when he's got such a plethora of adorable, smaller subjects, really?) the result isn't quite what Mom would like for her Lifelong Memorial.

I submit, in my defense, the most recent string of family pictures which include yours truly...

I particularly love the Ichabod Crane-themed shot. Yeah. These are some of the better ones.

It would seem that my issue is not pride (duh - posting these is evidence enough of that), nor is it lack of opportunity (the horses just kept coming around and around, so Zorak snapped away - he's very good about that). It seems that I am simply way too animated to be photographed. Or, something. I'm not sure which.

Of course, it doesn't help that over the course of a four-day trip, the camera was pointed, while not exactly *at* me, at least in my general direction, exactly twice (on the merry-go-round, and again on the train, as you can see). I usually have the camera, and nobody holds still long enough to use the timer. Those would be some sad, sad shots of me, all alone, standing in front of random backgrounds, talking to invisible people outside the frame. But the facial expressions would be similar, so really, what's the point?

So, if you start with limited opportunities, and add in slightly manic physical behavior, you have children who will wonder, as they peruse the family photos, exactly what affliction their mother suffered for her to be always making those faces. But they will love their father even more for staying with her, in spite of that. So, that's something.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The thing about life

Sometimes we watch other people, and think how nice it would be to live our lives in that kind of high-glam, thrills-a-minute existence. It's better than watching MST3K, or more depressing than watching Sex and the City. Either way, we keep watching...

And sometimes, it's easy to then look around at the chaos of our own lives, and get impatient with the responsibilities we have. Particularly in our little charges. We start thinking about how some people can pee in peace, or eat badly without feeling like a guilty hypocrite, or do what they want to do when they want to do it because they don't have anybody they're responsible for. And when what we really want to do is live off of boxed wine, Susy Q's, and rare t-bone steaks (or, that could be just me), we have to put down the book, and haul ourselves up off the couch to fix food, wipe noses and butts, explain things again and again (again), stand firm...

and be nice about it.

And it's easy to think that there's got to be something better. Somewhere. Somehow. Something we're missing, or missing out on, that we can never recapture. It's true that every choice we make indicates a choice we didn't opt for. Every responsibility we take on necessarily takes other options off the table. Call it a trade-off, call it choosing your path. Call it whatever you want, it can be frustrating.

But if we can, we need to look hard and long at what we're choosing, and what it will grow, what it will yield. When we can be honest about who we will become in those choices, and who we will impact in those choices, suddenly the choices become easier to make. Easier to embrace. Easier to be thankful for, added responsibilities, communal latrines, and all.


Because this doesn't just happen. This is the kind of thing that takes time and love to grow. It takes security and affection to thrive. Those things don't exist in a self-absorbed vacuum. They exist when we bring them to the table. When we nurture them in our own choices, in our own actions. They come to life when we put them into action, into life. Because this is it. This is life. This is what it's about. Not just parenting. Perhaps not even parenting. But life, family, friends. Love. Devotion. Doing what needs to be done because it needs to be done and we can do it. Sometimes we are the only ones who are supremely equipped to do it, whether we know it or not.

Because we may begrudge putting down the book or foregoing the t-bone. But we will never regret doing the right thing. And sometimes we may get grumpy. Or whiny. (Again, that could be just me.) But we get over it, and we move on. And that's the good stuff. That what makes us, at the end of the line, look back and say, "It was a good life." Having someone still with you at the end to hear you say it, or being the person there to hear it said, well, that's kind of the point, isn't it?
As always, kiss those babies!
~Dy

Summer Fun

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog

Actually, if you asked me to jog right now, I'd glare at you. Or, at least I'd think about glaring at you. But I don't have the energy to do more than that. Please don't ask me to jog.

We are home. Two very full days at Dollywood. One day at Splash Country. Five sunburned kids (even SPF30 has its limits - but it's nowhere near as bad as the lobster children I brought back from Florida a couple years ago, so I have minimal guilt this time). One lobster-mom - again, the limits of SPF - you just can't expose fish-belly white skin to the sun all at once, no matter how well you slather on the cream, you know. Zorak, who has had the foresight to work on the balcony without his shirt most of the summer, was able to even out his tan, and emerge quite bronzed and notburned. Pfftt.

We got to stop in at the Smoky Mountain Knife Works on the way back. This is Zorak's very favorite place to shop. Or at least it's in the top five.

Gram has good days and not-so-good days. It's a little scary on the not-so-good days, but like Aunt B said, she has those at home, too. The RV is so self-contained that she can be just as comfortable on the road. And when she's lucid, she loves to know that she's out and about. She loved the magnolia blooms, and the tall oaks. She loved reminiscing when the things she saw in TN reminded her of her time in VA and VT. She enjoyed watching the kids play, and she really wants to take BabyGirl home with her. Aunt B asked her last week what she'd do with her once she got her, and Gram said, "Well, I don't know. But I want her." Today she had a good day, and we were able to talk and visit for quite some time.

We think Aunt Linda has had a really good visit. She's always busy, doing something, or touching base with her daughters and friends back home. She tidies up a bit, writes some cards, holds the baby, and then starts all over again. I hope I'm doing that well, and can find that much joy in daily life, when I'm her age.

Aunt B needs a day at a spa, a really nice bottle of wine, and a book that's so funny it makes you laugh until you cry. But she probably won't take it. Gram had a bad night Friday night, and she stayed home from going to the park on Saturday. She worries. She's a caregiver, in the truest sense of the word, and even when she's exhausted and ready to drop, she takes a deep breath and keeps working. I wish like the dickens I could find a way to help her out, give her a breather, and help make her feel appreciated. Haven't hit on anything yet, but I'm not going to stop brainstorming for something.

I'm not sure the Aunts will ever want to travel with the Family Circus again- we're a loud, sleepy, vociferous, slow-moving, really vocal troupe. (Did I mention the decibel level? Whew, that'll do some damage to your hearing.) However, we had such a nice time. This isn't something we'd have ever gotten around to doing, I don't think. And now, we have. And we'd love to do it again!

The kids are all overwhelmed, exhausted, slightly crispy, a wee bit dehydrated (in spite of sucking down the water - sometimes you just cannot keep up), and all things considered, they held it together incredibly well. We even survived supper at the Cracker Barrel tonight with only one minor meltdown, and that was just a misunderstanding which was easily rectified and ended with smiles and snuggles.

I'll upload pictures tomorrow (today?) after we've unpacked and tidied a bit. Sit right down with a fresh pot of coffee and my USB cable and just go to town on it! (And hey, Erin, I did take pictures of the other four children, even!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Kamping

No, I haven't forgotten how to spell. I haven't even just decided it'd be fun to spell random words incorrectly (although it probably would be). We really are Kamping. And you know it's not like real camping, because this is way too swanky. And a little kitschy. Perhaps even... well, before I go overboard, let's just say it's a K-kinda word. As in KOA Kamping Kabins. (Nobody should make that much money off of bad spelling.) I haven't been in a KOA for more than two decades. Maybe three. Wow. Why not!?!? This is the way. to. go.
so, to recap:
Thursday: 1 RV, 2 dogs, 5 kids (10 people total), 300 miles... and we're in Pigeon Forge! The trip -- surprisingly low-key and non-scary. I don't know if it's Aunt B's calming influence, or if we're just starting to figure this thing out. Whatever it is, once in a while, you hit on something that just really clicks.

Friday: Dollywood! Aunt B stayed with Gram to help her rest up. We took aunt Linda with us. Fantastic place. Will fill you in with really funny pictures and details later, but for now, just a few bits. Take your own food. That's not 'flat bread', in the sense that most North, South, and Central Americans use the word. Ice water is free, and those souvenir cups are worth every penny just for that. And, um, don't wear jeans unless you're here for the Christmas to-do. Yeah.

Friday Night: Dixie Stampede. Very cool. Kids were totally riveted. LOVED the ostrich races. Gram had a good time. I think everybody did. Our waiter, Matthew, was astonishing. I could not do his job. WOW. But WHY did nobody warn us about the silverware issue? What's up with that? Try convincing my OCD-sympathetic 9yo that a whole chicken IS a finger food, and then get back to me on why you didn't feel the need to tip me off about something like that, please? That should so be the first thing out of any reviewer's mouth: there is no silverware. Not even for the soup. It's not a bad thing, but again, a little forewarning goes a long, long way, does it not?

Saturday: Back to Dollywood. This time, Aunt Linda stays with Gram and Aunt B comes with us. (We tried to convince her to let us stay with Gram and then the Aunts could take the boys and Fearless Sister, but that was kind of a no-go.)

We could easily stay here for a month and never feel like we've seen it all or run out of things to do. It's most impressive!

And so, I've just fallen asleep twice while typing this (a pitfall of laptops is that you can, technically, get way too comfortable!) so I'm going to go.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey, all

We're off on an adventure. I've heard there's wireless, and Aunt B said I can use her computer. We've got somebody to house sit, and all is well! I'll write more tomorrow!



Kiss those babies!

~Dy

Wordless Wednesday

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Mess

We're enjoying the visit, and the mess. The mess stays in the kitchen, though, which is helpful. A messy kitchen means there's been food, and with food comes laughter, fully bellies, shared stories, and contentment. Food is good. But you can't have good food without messing up the kitchen a little bit here and there. And you could stop to clean. Or you could just enjoy your company and clean later. My experience indicates those pots will be waiting for you after your guests leave, so there's really no hurry...
The boys were in heaven all weekend, having Patrick to play chess with them. They're wallowing in Aunt B's willingness to play cards. They love having Gram to dote on and do things for. And Aunt Linda lets them gather things for her and help out. It's really nice.

It's hard to see Gram as fragile as she is. But you know, she's 99... and a half! I think you're allowed to slow down a little at some point, right? And it's a reminder that the pots and pans will be there long after all of us are gone. I plan to clean enough to be able to make good food. But then, relax, tell stories, play games, and enjoy the things that won't be here later -- things like little babies, smallish kids, big kids, friends and aunts and grams. Really. It's okay.

And we have a surprise adventure planned for this weekend! I can hardly wait!


Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Visit

Hi! Wish you were here! We're eating, visiting, eating, chatting, eating, napping, and then eating some more. It's good stuff. And check it out - the mostly-finished balcony!
Aunt B, Aunt Linda, and Gram arrived safe and sound Friday night. Cousins P and T arrived sometime Saturday morning, while everyone was asleep. Anybody remember being young enough to drive all night and still function sometime in the following 24 hours? Me neither! But they're tough.

We had company today to visit with the... company. That sounds weird. Friends of Zorak's from work came down. Me-Tae came down. (We bribed her with puppies and children - she's such a softie!)

Zorak cooked and fed everyone into a near-comatose state... pulled pork bbq, chimichangas, beans and homemade Spanish rice... so good! Then we just sort of plopped down until our circulation could be rediverted back to our limbs.
And this... is a great way to spend a lovely Sunday afternoon, is it not?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

You don't say...

Doesn't that look like exactly what he's thinking, there? I love that look.

So, I nearly had the police called on me this week. Forgot to tell ya about that. Yeah, I was pumping gas when I noticed this...

And although my UpCloseNatureShots pretty much aren't worth taking, I couldn't resist. This little guy was SO cute. While the pump sucked the last of the checking account from my wallet, I scootched all around this post, snapping shots and trying to hit a Donna-worthy moment. (No luck.) The last picture on the disk shows the nice lady manager approaching me to find out why I was taking pictures at her gas station. Of course, she didn't identify herself, just came up and started in on me. I, being guilty of nothing untoward, and having severe personal space issues, as well as a deep disdain for being approached and questioned in public, I asked her why she wanted to know. THEN she explained that she's the manager of the gas station, and it all clicked. Ohhhh, crazy middle-aged lady snapping photos of... of what? *shrug* Well, I'd made her uncomfortable, regardless. Private property. I'm good with that. Mea culpa.

So when she asked me what I was taking pictures of, I pointed to the moth (which was, thankfully, still there - wouldn't that have been awkward?) and said, "A bug." I think that actually made me more suspect in her eyes, as she didn't even glance at it. She just frowned. (Could have been the frown of 'great, another loon', but it looked like the frown of 'thank heaven for Homeland Security', okay?) But as I lost control of my verbal diarrhea (I'd caught sight of her husband/friend/bodyguard in the background, with his phone open and his thumb hovering over the keypad, his eyes blatantly glued to the two of us - and I realized he was probably waiting for the signal to hit 'send' and bring in the cops...) I waxed on about photography and photoshop and bokah (or is it bekah? buuka? bummah?) the poor woman actually backed. away. from me. as she said good-bye. I panicked. "Wait!" I yelled. I no longer feared the cops. But I realized she thought I was a fruitcake. "Do you want to see the pictures? They're not very good, but they're-" She cut me off and ran for her car. She got in, he closed his phone, and they sat there, tag-team mad-dogging me until I left.

So, I think I'm at least cleared of potential terrorist activity. But I may now be the new Local Nutcase. Yep, me and the guy who talks to his shoes, hangin' at the gas station. We are the local color. (She couldn't have identified herself, first? I mean, really? *sigh*) Oh well, I'm only a little nuts. It's a benign nuts.

Today, we did go to the park. We played in the water. We did the picnic thing. We laughed a lot. And when we loaded up to leave, we found we had company. They've named him Wobbles, and they are *quite* excited to watch him emerge from his shell. (If you look closely, you can see his back had just begun to split, although he was still walking around.) They've been waiting for this ever since Meredith's boys found one last year. He's now on the tea cart (still on the sling) in the dining room. Zorak is pretty sure he'll hatch out while we sleep and we'll have a cicada round-up on our hands come morning. The boys plan to be up early to catch The Emerging.

I'm just trying not to think about it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy