Details

In the golden light of the morning

she was astonished by the details:

The saw-toothed ridges

on the leaves of the ash tree

as they waved in the breeze.

The sequined glint of sunlight 

on the drops of dew, 

yet to be absorbed back into the atmosphere.

The motes of dandered dust,

dancing in the shaft of sunlight

that warmed the sleeping dog.
And his thousands of little acts,

that when added together

over the years, equaled love.

For my husband, on our 23rd anniversary. I am one lucky woman.

For My Children, On The First Day Of May

My Dear Lovelies,

Today is the first day of May. You have a scant four weeks of school left. You are in the final count down. (Sorry for the '80s ear worm, btw) There are about 20 days left in which you must pack up your things and tote them to school. This means, by my calculations, that you have already been packing and toting for about 8 months. Or approximately 32 weeks. Or somewhere around 160 days, give or take a snow day. That is many, many days, my sweets.

What I'm saying is, you've had lots of days to practice at being organized. You've had quite a bit of time to get your, um, "stuff" together. They say it takes 30 days to form a habit, so you've had the opportunity to make or break 8 different habits.

My question for you is, why isn't Remembering All The Things I Must Have With Me At School In Order To Properly Get Through My Day one of them?

Why, for the love of Pete, am I still receiving frantic ALL CAPS texts shortly after you have left the house for the day? Why, am I still asked to bring x to school at y time? I have never liked algebra and these different equations which I am being asked to solve before I have even had a cup of coffee make me want to weep.

Today, for instance, I was asked to please, pretty please (Gosh, you're pretty, mom!) bring a jar to school. Before first period. Shortly after that, another child asked if I was feeling nice. That sent my spidey senses to tingling, because I try really, really hard to always be nice. But I knew something else was going to follow that sentence. And really? It left me feeling not so nice.

Do I look like a Fed Ex driver? Nope. I drive a crappy, white minivan with a sliding door that refuses to budge and a piece of red electrical wire holding up my cracked front bumper and an odor of rancid french fries that permeates the interior. (This is not a rant complaining about my van. I will drive Blanca until she dies and I will love her for taking all the abuse we have heaped upon her, lo these past 10 years. This is merely to compare and contrast the differences between what I drive and what a Fed Ex driver drives.) Do I look like a UPS delivery person? Nope. Brown is so not my color. It makes me look washed out. My point here, in case for some reason you are unable to suss it out, is that I am not paid for or compensated in any way for making deliveries.

And no. Texting me that I'm so pretty or I'm the best mom ever do not count as compensation. At least not in the context in which they are being used.

I have driven to school in the pouring rain. I have driven to school on icy roads. I have driven to school in the snow. I have driven to school during the peak of the high school rush hour! You have no idea how I have endangered my life for you! I have run to the school in my pajamas. I have run to the school in exercise gear. I have run to the school with no makeup. The secretaries have seen me without makeup almost as much as your father--and we've been married over 20 years! Those poor women don't get paid enough to have to encounter the Crypt Keeper as often as they do. I'm begging you, don't worry about my pride; think of the secretaries.

I love you more than all the sand on all the beaches on the planet. But hear me now and know that I say this because I love you and want what's best for you: I am not afraid to let you fail. Many of life's greatest (and hardest) lessons come from failure. I speak from experience. I know you are all smart and resourceful and resilient and you will be okay. Even if you don't have x at y time. I have worked hard for you and with you all year. You are in the homestretch. You are nearly there. You can do it! I'm sure of it. I will continue to cheer you on from the sidelines until you reach the finish. But me? I'm out. Dunzo. Finished. I have responded to my last ALL CAPS EMERGENCY PLEASE DELIVER text. Unless your hair is on fire and I am the only person left on the planet who can help you, DO. NOT. PUSH. SEND.


Now, my preshus snowflakes, have a great day. Only 21 non-emergency-text, non-please-bring-me, non-are-you-feeling-nice-you're-so-pretty more days to go!

Love,
Mom

Ugh: A Post-Migraine Poem

It's a new morning,
my migraine has fled,
I look around the house
and am filled with dread.

The cat was down
 for just one day
and in that time
the mice did play.

The dishes are dirty
 and stacked in a heap,
the laundry is a mountain
stinky and steep.

There are millions of socks
strewn about the floor,
and smudgy dog nose prints
all over the door.

The island is stacked
with papers and stuff,
the dog hair blows about
like so much brown fluff.

The tables and couch
of the family room
are littered with crap
adding to the gloom.

The people that live here
are rabid feral goats
that haven't even a clue
about how to hang up a coat.

Toothpaste globs dot
every mirror and sink,
the garbage is overflowing
and starting to stink.

The fridge is empty
and the goats all whine
that there's nothing to eat,
on what will they dine?

I survey the sorry
state of this place,
and I scratch my head
and I grimace my face.

Where to start? What to do?
With which task to begin?
This is a losing battle.
There's no way to win.

But I know that the answer
lies in my brainy little head:
"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!"
So I'm going back to bed.

The Haps

Hey y'all. As my kids say: 'What's the haps?'

Okay. I'm lying. My kids don't actually now say, nor have they ever said that. This is what happens when you are out of practice with writing. You just make stuff up just so you can get going. But now, having lied and having started, I'm pretty sure I can keep going without resorting to lying. I shall, forthwith, update you on "the haps" at Chez Sara and I shall tell it like it is. Or was, depending on when things happened. Time, it's a tricky business, dontchaknow.

First off, let me start by telling you that I was slain by that dastardly little drummer boy. It was an unholy pairing of an army of fake Kardashians and that evil song that pah-rum-pum-pummed me right out of the game. Thanks SNL for your Kimye skit. You really should have a warning. Anyway, it was only 24 hours before the game ended that I was done in. I was sitting in my room, watching a dvr'd episode of SNL with my daughter when it happened. I screamed. In agony. In such a way that my beloved, who had just finished showering, ran out of the bathroom to make sure that someone hadn't actually lost a body part. (Well, he couldn't see it, but I'm pretty sure The Boy took part of my soul.) Then, after hearing my explanation for the ruckus, he just shook his head in disgust and headed back into the bathroom to finish grooming himself and his manly, manly beard.

We had a joyful Christmas with most of my family. My folks and Uncle Grumpy and his kids headed down and we celebrated. And they left this for me:

Yep. I was given the dreaded owls, dressed as a drummer boy, ox, and lamb. The HORROR!

After they left, we had a day to recover and then we had a houseful of friends over on Christmas eve. And then Christmas morning dawned bright and early and this happened:

Select. Fill. Relax. Lying liars!!

Guess who's still finding random styrofoam beans?

It'll be easy, they said! Just select a cover, they said! Just pour in the foam beans, they said! Then relax, they said! Lies! ALL LIES!

Mary was trying to help me and when my father finally came upstairs to see what all the laughing/cursing/crying/screaming/shrieking was about, he shook his head in disbelief. It wasn't long before he, too, was covered in the liesbeans.

After Christmas, Mother Nature decided it was time to bring me to my knees by sending us 12" of snow and a polar vortex that kept my children out of school for the whole first week that they were supposed to be back. Instead of having a two week winter break, they had three. And I almost and a nervous breakdown. The laundry! The food! The different waking/sleeping/eating schedules!

3/4 of my children working on a tunnel. The 4th was off being cool with his friends.

Taken about two seconds before having snow thrown at me.

Then they were back in school for 4 and a half days when they had an early dismissal and a day off for MLK day. As I told my daughter, I'm fairly certain that the Reverend King wouldn't have minded them celebrating his day IN SCHOOL. You know, where they could LEARN and EXPAND their tiny, little MINDS. The bonus this weekend, was seeing my folks again. They came over because my other brother--my TX brother--Uncle SupahJeenius and my niece were here visiting a University and having an audition. It was a fun visit because snow! While my brother grew up here in the midwest, it's been many years since he's been here on purpose in January. He said it was a matter of pride not to wear his hat, but when it got down to about 14 degrees F, he decided he'd rather be warm than proud. He also had a hard time remembering to button his coat and THEN put his gloves on. Winter FAIL. My niece, who has experienced snow a handful of times and wasn't quite mesmerized, was fascinated with the fact that the snow squeaks when you walk on it. Yep. Winter--it's entertaining on so many levels.

I'm hearing now that next week may rival the first appearance of the polar vortex. Yippee. Even my children, who were delighted at having an extended break, are starting to grow bored. They are not hoping for anymore snow days, since their school year has now been extended into June. Now they are just looking for 2 hour delays. I, however, am no longer on speaking terms with the school district's Director of Transportation. Um, not that I ever spoke to the man before. But boy! If he tried to speak to me now, I would give him one heck of a cold shoulder!

Let's see…

Oh!

There was also this:

I got a disco ball for Christmas! So. Much. WIN!

It's just part of my decor--I'm not actually hanging it and doing the hustle or anything. And the best part is--well, besides the faces of people who come over and then exclaim "You have a disco ball? WHY do you have a disco ball? Now I kinda want a disco ball!"--if the sun decides to show up in the morning and do its job instead of hiding behind the gray, gray clouds that are trying to make me curl up in a ball and die, it looks like this in my family room!

And do you know what happens next?

The Dumb Dog loses her mind.

Winning on two levels. Feels good!

The Longest Shortest Summer Ever

Well howdy there, stranger! How have you been? Me? I've been busy crazy holed up in my room with the door closed for the last two weeks trying to avoid my offspring fine, thanks for asking!

Our summer was a combination of long days laced with cries of "I'm hungry!" and whines of "I'm bored" intertwined with frenzied days of travel and go-here-do-this-have-fun-dammit! (Hence the title of this post.) It seems we just finished the manic final days of school and now here we are starting them all up again. But in between, we crammed stuff in there, man. We crammed like a BOSS. To wit:

*My children were out of school for two days before heading over to my folks' house for a week of VBS, visiting, eating ice cream, swimming, fishing, and, according to my ever-hungry-never-full offspring, absolutely starved by my mother who would not let them raid the pantry willy-nilly as they are wont to do here. (My mom fears she is a mean grandma. I tell her no, I'm just a lazy mother too tired to fight with my children. They have me way outnumbered. Never mind that they have her outnumbered, too. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

*At the same time 3 of my children were at my folks' home, my eldest son and my beloved were in Canada, fishing, hiking, avoiding stumps that look like bears (no lie--three different times they mistook the same stump for a bear such was their wish/fear of seeing a bear. That stump/bear came to be known as Stumpy the "bear.") and checking out the ER of a Canadian hospital just for grins. Oh, and maybe to get stitches in a thumb because, as my son learned, knives are sharp.

*While my children and my beloved were gone, I painted my kitchen. Why yes, it seems I did just paint the kitchen a couple of years ago. But, now that the family room is painted (the color has grown on me. It's grown on me so much that I painted the kitchen the same color. Who knew that "Tattered Sail/Not Tattered Sail/Lavender Swine/Who Knows What Color This Is" would look so good? Now, I must share that the kitchen is not actually completely painted. My beloved told me he would paint the wee crevices above the upper cabinets with his special painting device he used last time we painted. I also left the area behind the fridge for him for two reasons: 1) I am a delicate flower and moving the fridge by myself seemed too overwhelming, and 2) I was afraid I would scratch the hardwood floors and then be given the stinkeye by my beloved. So now, my kitchen is totally painted. Um, if you don't you know, actually look above the cabinets or behind the fridge. Chances are very good that it will get painted. Sometime in 2017 when my husband gets to it on his very long To Do List and he actually has a day or two strung together that doesn't require his attention somewhere else. Until then, I'm pretending. Yellow? I don't see any yellow! Have you been to the eye doctor lately? I'm concerned for your vision.

*My eldest daughter spent 8 days in Guatemala with other students from her school's Spanish department. If we are Facebook friends, perhaps you will remember my request for prayers and good thoughts as she spent the first 3 days sick with the stomach flu and I spent the first 3 days alternately praying for her, answering her frantic texts, and being wracked with guilt for not letting her come home. It ultimately turned out just fine--just like I kept calmly telling her in my texts and just like my Sane Brain kept telling me over the very loud, very scary protests of my Insane Brain. She had a marvelous trip--ziplining at a coffee plantation, hiking up an active volcano, going to a black sand beach, working with kids at an after school program, visiting a local market, climbing pyramids, and trying not to die from being much to close to a poisonous snake. And, oh yes! Speaking and improving her Spanish.

*My family came in from my hometown and Chicago and Texas for the 4th of July. There was no burn ban in place this year, so we spent a great amount of time blowing things up to celebrate our country's independence. We also ate. A lot. And laughed. A lot. And just all around crammed as much enjoyment and togetherness as we could into a couple of days. Oh! And the Dreaded Owls never made an appearance. Will wonders never cease?

*My sweet mother-in-law left the bonds of this Earth to meet her Lord in Heaven and we spent a few days with my beloved's family celebrating her life--talking, laughing, looking through photos, crying, hugging, and remembering the countless ways she loved us all.

*We spent waaaay too many hours in a car together driving to, around, and from Florida. But, along the way, we got to see my sweet Aunt Bonnie, my beloved connected with a buddy, we had a weird little yodeling contest with the people in a truck next to us in a traffic jam, we saw a shark, we saw dolphins, we met up with my folks at a rented house and spent a wonderful week with them, swimming, eating, laughing, walking the beach, and playing approximately 827 games of SCAT.

*We celebrated three birthdays. Mary turned 9, Sean turned 12, and Maggie turned 17. I'm not sure how this is possible, given that I'm only 18 myself. Mary went to her first concert--with her big sister--and had a blast. Sean received a cell phone as his right of passage. And Maggie got a job. So you know, all is good in the 'hood.

*We returned from vacation to the windup to back-to-school. There was school shopping and more school shopping and meet the teacher and registration and orientation and so much paperwork that I'm sure several trees were harmed in the making of this school year.

*The kids started school on the 14th. On the 16th, I had one sick kid--two days in and his immune system went Holy Schnikes! Look at all these people! Look at all these germy surfaces! I know, I really feel the need to battle these. Oh! And I know what else sounds fun: Let me battle this virus while I'm already battling the allergens already in your body. Ready, Set, BOOM! Aaaaaaand he was down for the count. The same day, my eldest son, you know the one with the smart phone attached to his body permanent-like? He missed the bus. Let me say it again: Third day. Phone that not only does fancy things, it also shows the time to the minute, attached to body. Bus missed.

It was at that point in the program friends, that I knew. I might have had the Longest Shortest summer ever, but that was just a lead up to what may become the Longest Longest School Year ever.

Perseverance

In one of my last posts, On Baseball and Grace, I recounted for you my son's frustration and how ultimately we all learned a little lesson on grace. Today, I just want to show you the result of his (and our) perseverance:

His team--you know, the one that was STUPID, and in turn, because of our refusal to let him quit it, made us, his parents, STUPID--won the league championship.

And this kid, the one who was brave every time he was in the batter's box and was not rocking such a great batting average, stepped up to the plate and got an RBI, starting a two out rally that ultimately led to the team's win.

I try very hard to not hit my kids over the head when the lessons they are (or should be) learning are obvious. But I have to say, I might have whispered "Aren't you glad we didn't let you quit?" in my boy's ear.

Proving once again, that I may not be Mother of the Year material, but who cares?! I have a shiny trophy sitting on my mantle.

A Fractured Five Senses Poem

My kids have all written what is called a five senses poem while in elementary school. It's not a poem that rhymes, rather one that focuses on using your five senses to describe your surroundings. I shall attempt to replicate such a poem with a Que Sara Sara spin.

Home:

I see: dirty socks lying like dessicated worms in crumpled heaps on the floor; pale tumbleweeds of dog fur that roll across the floor with the breeze; piles of notebooks, keys, and sunglasses that make an end-of-school-year mountain on the kitchen island.

I hear: the wet, slurping sound of the dumb dog's tongue repeatedly licking a spot on her dog bed; the thunderous kawunking thump of the washing machine on spin cycle, sounding like a Blackhawk helicopter in my laundry room, signaling the end of its useful days; the squawks and screeches of yet another battle between siblings over the blaring television.

I smell: the bitter, but lovely smell of mama's little helper coffee brewing; the stale, heavy, still somewhat appetizing aroma of bacon that was cooked days ago; a slightly musty, warm Frito odor coming off the dog as dozes in the sunbeam by the door.

I taste: the bittersweet hotness of the cappuccino as I guzzle it down while signing school papers; the bright, minty flavor of the sweet peppermint gum I chew to keep coffee-breath at bay; the bland, plastic taste of the tip of a pen as I compose yet another grocery list.

I touch: the gummy surface of a countertop left mottled and blemished by dirty cups, bowls, dishes, and wrappers; a slightly damp, highly stinky baseball jersey as I throw it into the dying washer; a wet shower mat with my bare feet, causing me to leap onto cold tiles. (Ick.)

Home.


And there you have it. It's probably not the A+ work my children received on their poems describing places like Disneyworld or the zoo, but it's my poem and I'm sticking to it.

Brave

He dons his uniform and cap, gathers his glove and equipment bag, and heads out the door yet again. It's baseball season and he has another game. He virtually vibrates in his seat as we drive to the game. He tells me about his teammates. He regales me with great plays. He tells me that he hopes he gets a hit.

It's been a bit of a dry spell in the hitting department. He's going great guns on the field. He's catching pop-ups, he's making double plays, he's aggressive. But when he steps into the batter's box, I can see it in his shoulders. I can see the tension. I can see the co-mingled hope and fear as he takes a couple of practice swings.

And I watch. And I cross my fingers. And my toes. And I whisper a silent prayer: Please, God, just once. Just one hit. Just to bring his confidence back. Please.

And I listen to his coach and his teammates as they offer encouragement: You can do it! This one's yours! Good eye! Big swing! Take it for a ride!

And I watch as he goes down swinging. And my heart aches as I see him walk dejectedly back to the dug out.

But then, when it's time to head back out to the field, there he is, all grins and freckles and joy. And when it's time to head back into the batter's box, he is there again serious-faced, ready to give it another try. Ready to swing away again.

And I think how hard this is and how strong he is and how brave he is to step into that box every time and keep swinging. And I am proud of his bravery.

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

She looks beautiful all in white. She is proud of her dress. She twirls. She loves her shoes; loves the clonking noise the little heels make as she walks across the wood floors.

She has been preparing for this day. She says she was practicing in bed at night. She says she is ready. She is aglow.

And I see her, in the same dress her sister wore, taking the flower wreath on and off her head, rolling her eyes as we tell her "one more picture" and my eyes prick with tears. My baby. The one I didn't know I needed until we found out about her. I can't believe we are at this milestone already.

We head to the church and there is milling about and more pictures and exclamations when friends are seen. And finally, it's time. We are gathered in the pew, like 8 ducks in a row, listening, waiting, watching. And I look over at her.

Her face has crumpled. She is crying. And I know. I know she is frightened. She is afraid of walking down that aisle. She is afraid of making a mistake. She is afraid of all those eyes on her.

And I begin to whisper. I whisper to her that it will be okay. I whisper that we will be right there with her. I whisper that there are others feeling frightened. I whisper that it doesn't matter if she makes a mistake--no one cares, God certainly doesn't. God loves her heart. God loves her humor. God loves her compassion. God loves her. I crack a joke. I cross my eyes. I make a face.

She gives me a tentative smile.

But then it's our turn. We rise and walk down the aisle. She is still crying. I see compassionate eyes in the pews, watching my girl. She checks my face and I offer her every ounce of encouragement I can summon. As she approaches the front, I see her panic. She wants to flee. She tells me: I can't! And I tell her: You can! You can do hard things! I am so proud of you!

And she does. She does it through tears, but she does it just the same.

We head back to the pew where the rest of the family is waiting with smiles and hugs and pats and thumbs up. And she settles back into the pew, relieved, as she watches others have their turn.

And I think how hard this is and how strong she is and how brave she is to put one foot in front of the other and keep walking down that aisle. And I am proud of her bravery.

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

I am doubtful. I question myself constantly; Is this the right decision? What if I mess up? What should I do next? What do people think of me? I am sometimes jumpy and uncomfortable in my own skin. Some days I want to pull the covers back up and say Not Today. I think I must be the only one: the only one who feels this way, the only one who struggles, the only one who hasn't got it all together, the only one who wishes she was someone else, was somewhere else. And I don't want any part of it. I think it might be easier to just stop. Quit.

But then they show me. Every day they show me how to walk bravely through this world. It's not always graceful. It's certainly not easy. But it's always amazing.

Feel Free To Paint Your Toenails During This Post

I'm back! Not that I was really gone, I've been here. I mean, around. You know, physically. But after the events in Boston and Texas, I just felt like I needed a vacation from media for awhile. Because I'm such a delicate bunny.

It's not like I accomplished much while I wasn't here writing. Although there was this:

She went to prom with her beau. She went with a group of about 10 other couples. And the whole thing made me think some stuff to myself. Stuff like: Self, you cannot possibly have a daughter old enough to attend prom, because you are only a few years past that yourself! And: Self, this is just a preview. Someday you'll be watching her in a white dress. And then: Self, you must knock off that kind of thinking! And finally: Self, you are getting old. That stuff you said about just being past prom yourself? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Also, I may have found a new energy source. I think if you could find a way to harness the light that was coming off these kids, BAM! You could light the world! I mean, they were all just so beautiful and fresh and full of light. And they had absolutely no idea!

Youth is wasted on the young.

Let's see....what else?

Um, there was laundry. And dog walking. And trying to keep the dog from walking off with the laundry. Seriously. This has become a thing now. I walk down the hall past the laundry room and I find a random piece of underwear or dirty sock or damp dishrag laying in the middle of the floor. At first, I was blaming the children, thinking they were knocking stuff off of the ever-present-piles of dirties in their haste to grab a clean garment and get out of the laundry room before I could catch them in there and make them take their WHOLE pile of clean clothes back to their room instead of just retrieving one. piece. at. a. time. But then, it dawned on me that the culprit was more than likely the Dumb Dog, what with her excellent nose and the fabulous smelling capabilities that go with it. Oh yeah, and her propensity to find absolute joy in the grossest smelling stuff. Yep. Would that I could find the same joy! It would make doing laundry and spending any amount of time in either of my sons' rooms so much nicer.

Hmmm....there was also taking my younger son to the dermatologist to have something removed from his back and standing by his head to comfort him whilst the doc cut an inch long, nearly inch deep incision into his back. Guess what we talked about while this little procedure was going on? Pizza. It was highly disturbing. And I'm not usually grossed out by stuff like that. In fact, for the first part of it, I was pretty fascinated. And then the discussion of pizza came up and I had to stop watching for a bit. You're welcome.

Also, my house is the poster child for entropy. I have been trying to systematically go through the house and clean things up and throw things out. My children have been systematically going through the house and messing things up and bringing things in. This has been causing me to systematically eyeball my wine bottles more times a day than I should probably mention.

And now that it's almost May (and thank the heavens above, because April? You have bitten it HARD. It's been wet and cold around here. Hey April! Don't let the door hitcha on your way out!) I am equal parts excitement and dread. Excitement because YAY! Warmer weather (Sweet cracker sandwiches! It BETTER get warmer)! And warmer weather means more time outside playing and watching baseball and grilling and walking the Dumb Dog. And also, May means school is almost out. Dread because school is almost out and that means projects and Special Days which require my time and attention when I am in no mood or shape to give any more time or attention to anything but painting my toenails. Seriously. That's my attention span right there. If it takes longer or requires more effort than painting my toenails, I'm out.

Whew! I feel much better! Thanks for reading. Or alternatively, thanks for pretending to read while you painted your toenails.

Photo Dump

Pictures from the last week or so from my dslr and my phone.

3 generation selfie.

Yes, we drive through a town named Boody on our way to my hometown. We also drive through a town called Willeys. The 10 year old boy that inhabits my brain finds that hilarious. Alas, I didn't get a picture of Willeys. This time.

This is how all my hands in SCAT looked. Ugh.

His favorite thing from his Easter basket.

Sean's beautiful blue slushie.

Our kicks. On Rt. 66.

She grabbed my camera to take some selfies. 

Then her brothers got involved.

So much for that idea.

Yep. We hid some eggs at Tastee Treat. 

Also at the Lincoln and pig statue on the courthouse lawn.

These people look normal. But if you wait in line with them a while, you learn otherwise.

Random Thoughts: Spring Break, Gnats, and Dog Walking

Do you hear that? That sweet sound of silence? My children are back in school after Spring Break. Now the fact that I'm enjoying the silence is not to say that I didn't enjoy the little darlings while they were home, because I did. But I didn't particularly enjoy the trail of kid garbage left wherever they went. If my kids were Hansel and Gretel, they wouldn't drop only bread crumbs, they would drop shoes, dirty socks, bath towels, candy wrappers, soda cans, water bottles, juice pouches, dirty dishes, jackets, blankets, and sporting equipment. They would have absolutely NO PROBLEM finding their way home, methinks.

We spent Easter weekend in my hometown with my parents and took a day to visit my beloved's mom and sisters just down the road. It was a strange Easter as my brother (Uncle Grumpy) and his family were in Florida instead of with us (where they should have been). That's the first time we've spent an Easter without their family. It was strange. And my kids were very disappointed as they very much wanted to pal around with their cousins. To assuage this disappointment I planned a different Easter egg hunt this year.

Usually the eggs are hidden by the kids over 13 for the kids under 13. Since the cousins were gone, the only ones under 13 were Sean and Mary. I decided that we'd have an egg scavenger hunt around town instead. It was a hit. Maggie, James and I hid eggs with clues (and candy) around town, then my mom drove Mary and my dad drove Sean to find the eggs. We had a good time going to different places that the kids knew and loved. It would have been even better if I was good at math and didn't have more clues than eggs. Ooops! Things worked out anyway and it ate some of the daylight that the kids normally would've spent moping about their cousins being gone. (Hey Uncle Grumpy's family?! Have I made you feel guilty enough now?)

Then there was the traditional beating of the pinata. As I've said before, nothing says 'He is risen' like taking a whack at a papier mache duck with a long stick. ;)

The day after Easter, we headed about 90 miles south to Saint Louis. (For the purposes of trying to sound like we vacationed somewhere exotic over Spring Break, we have been pronouncing that city's name with a French pronunciation. Think: Sahn Leweee. You are more than welcome to join us in this. I think if enough of us do it, it could be A Thing.) Even though we grew up a short hour and a half away, my beloved and I had never taken our children there. We decided to take a day and rectify that situation. We first headed to the Arch where we waited in line for security while embarrassing ourselves in front of our fellow line-waiters. One son was attempting parcourt on the sloped sides of the entrance, another was desperately trying (and mostly failing) to take panoramic shots of the Arch from underneath it with my phone, one was taking photos on her phone while being accosted by a strange man dressed like a '90s rap artist, and one was doing everything she could to aggravate everyone else by either mocking them or not being satisfied with things. We are delightful to be in line with.

Once we got in and purchased our tickets, we had just enough time to buy some salt water taffy and root beer barrel candy at the mercantile before waiting in another line to board the 5 seat tram/pods to the top. Then we split up (boys/girls) and took the 4 minute ride to the top with strangers (who we discovered, were from nearby places--hello boys from Sacred Heart-Griffin! Hello couple from South Dakota with family in Chatham where we have family!) who were probably quite happy to be shed of us once the trams came to a stop.

When we got to the top, we elbowed our way through the crowds to the windows and took pictures and oohed and ahhed. Except Sean, who is afraid of heights and decided that just making the trip up was enough for one day and who stood in the exact center of the milling crowd so he wouldn't have to see out the windows.

After the Arch, we stopped for some lunch and headed to the zoo. There we saw lots of animals--including Sean's favorite, the Somali wild ass. You know why it was his favorite? Because it gave him a legitimate reason to say the word ass. And like any 11 year old boy, he was very creative in finding ways to work it into conversation throughout the day. We also ran into friends from our neighborhood--causing everyone to muse about what a small world it really is. And then I had that stupid, insipid song in my head all day and willingly shared it with my family by singing it loudly and poorly as often as possible because I love them and I am a giver.

After the zoo, we dropped Patrick at his hotel (he was staying behind on business) and I drove the kids home to my folks' house to spend the night before heading back to Indy. And I only almost wrecked the car once because of a McConnaughay fit, brought on by my eldest son's Cartman voice and the town of Raymond. Now if we want to give something or someone particularly high praise, we call it/them Raymond.

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

Maggie, James, Mary, and I went to drum circle last week. Sean opted not to go as he didn't "see the point of having some dirty hippie* tell me about hitting a drum" when he could be outside playing with his dudes. We had a great time. It relieved our stress (but did make our hands a little sore) and had us laughing. The folks at the drum place said as the weather warmed, they'd move the circle outside. We have all agreed we are going back. Maggie even said she's going to go with a group of friends. It was an hour well spent.

*The instructors might lean toward hippie just a skosh, but were not in the least bit dirty.

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

I have been trying to teach the Dumb Dog manners. And part of this requires me taking her for leashed walks and teaching her how to be sociable without appearing ridiculous. This means that when people approach, I shorten that leash to nothing and often make her sit until the people have walked by. This is so hard for her, since what she really wants to do is bound up to them and wag them into submission, that while she's sitting her hindquarters quiver. Then when I give her the command to continue walking she does a full body shake. If you happen by when we are walking, you'll be able to easily identify us: I'll be the weary human with several loaded poop bags walking the yellow hound that looks as if she's suffering from fits.

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

I have floaters in my eyes. Nothing to be alarmed about, just the occasional black spots floating by. However, sometimes I think the floaters are gnats out in front of me and I wildly wave my arms about my face trying to clear the air. Then I realize what I'm seeing are floaters, NOT gnats, and I look around to see if anyone saw me.

This morning while walking the dog, I was walking and noticed the floaters again. Rather than embarrass myself in front of the neighborhood by flinging my arms about at nothing, I took a deep breath and kept walking, thinking that the floaters would settle in a minute. This would have been a great plan, if the floaters were really floaters. Instead they really were gnats and as I took a deep breath, one flew up my nose. So instead of waving my arms about my face, I stood there hacking and honking and snorting and doing a little dance because I was totally squicked out about inhaling a gnat.

That was so completely NOT RAYMOND!

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

Snow? NO! Drums? Absolutely!

If you are reading this from somewhere in the Midwest, you are probably like me: looking out your window at an obscene amount of snow and dying a little inside because it's March 25th and SNOW isn't supposed to be on the radar. Sad panda!

If you are reading this from somewhere else and you are not like me and you are all "what is this thing called snow?" let me just say that you should keep your questions to yourself. The only dumb question is the one you just asked about snow. Or something.

Today, whether it's 75 and sunny where you live (boo! hiss!) or 25 and still snowing (really, I feel your pain), I hope that this video will make you smile the way it does me.

My daughter's 2nd grade field trip to Bongo Boy Music last week. The kids had an hour long drum circle and it was fabulous--full of pounding, unfettered joy. They offer a free family drum circle on Thursday evenings and let me tell you, we are going. I need some pounding, unfettered joy in my life.

Especially after all this snow.

We Already Have A Dog. We Don't Need A (Big) Cat.

Break is coming soon. It's hard to be very excited. Unlike last year, when we had super mild--even hot--temperatures, this year temps are below normal. When the sun is out, you think that it's lovely outside. And then you step outside and it's 34 degrees. This causes an immense amount of suckitude. It feels more like November than March. And since we aren't traveling to someplace warm, like every other family in our town,* it's a little difficult to get enthusiastic about having a week off from school only to stay holed up in the house because the weather is stupid.

My kids are excited to be going to their grandparents' for the annual Easter egg hunt and The Bashing of the Pinata, but their excitement is subdued, because their cousins won't be there for the first time in well, ever. They are always happy to visit their grandparents, but they are a little less happy for only having their siblings to hang around with.

We've decided that because Easter falls at the beginning of Spring Break this year we would hang around another day for a day trip from my hometown. We are going to head to St. Louis for a day and play around. Aside from Maggie going to a rally at the convention center once, my kids have never been to St. Louis. This is weird, because it's only about 90 minutes from my hometown. We've just never thought to spend some time there with them. But now we are remedying the situation and taking a day to play in the Gateway to the West.

You know that after last year's Spring Break Planning Fiasco that this means I was on the computer checking things out and making sure that the places we want to go will be open while we are there. I mentioned to Mary, my animal lover, that we may head to the St. Louis Zoo. She was, of course, very excited by the prospect and asked to look at the website. I gladly handed over the seat at the computer and headed over to the stove to start dinner. Maggie and I were chatting while I was clattering around with pots and pans and shortly we heard Mary talking to herself.

"Ooh! Lions! They have lions! I love lions. Lions are my favorite! They're so majestic and their cubs are soooo cute! Wait. What? That doesn't make any sense!"

Maggie and I turned to look at the computer and Mary, still looking at the screen said to me, "Mom?Why would anybody want to adopt a lion? That doesn't make any sense at all. I don't think that's a very good idea! Adopting a lion? I don't get how you would make that work."

Maggie and I looked at each other with barely suppressed grins. "Darlin' that doesn't mean what you think it means," I responded. I then went on to explain how zoos used the word "adopt" when they were just talking about sharing in the care of the animal through financial donations. Mary nodded and said she now understood. Her eyes got very big and she said with great relief, "Whew! That's a much better idea than letting random people adopt lions from the zoo." Then she paused a beat and said somewhat wistfully, "But it would be pretty cool..."

Yeah, kid. I kinda feel the same way about otters.




*This is how my kids state it. Every other family in our town is going someplace warm while we are staying here. My answer is to state gleefully, "Think of how uncrowded the grocery store will be with everyone in our town out of town!" This is met with eye rolling and sullen stares. Mission accomplished! I win.

Last Week: Or Seven Days Of Excuses About Why I Couldn't Blog

I know it seems like I've been completely lame about posting and I'd like to say that my last post sucked all of my creativity and you know, making with the words out of me, but really it's just that my life has been extraordinarily ordinary lately. My life has been like watching paint dry. Except that watching paint dry is much more exciting and interesting than my life. Also, the last week has been fraught with roadblocks to blogging. To wit:

Sunday: I spent 7 hours in various waiting and exam rooms in doctors' offices and hospitals with my eldest. She has a pain in her ribs. She had x-rays and blood work (because of which my poor sweetums became white as a sheet, nearly keeled over, and immediately barfed up the juice the nurses gave her. Girl doesn't do blood work.) and probably a total of 40 minutes with various medical personnel. We spent the rest of the time either waiting in rooms or lobbies, moving from one building to another, or moving from one room to another, or doing paperwork. The results? Um, inconclusive. They know what it isn't, but can't tell us what is causing her the pain. The moral of this medical adventure? The weekend urgent care clinic is probably not the best place to seek out care for this type of problem. We should have waited a little and gone to her regular doc. I'm guessing we could've skipped a few steps. Oh well, at least I wasn't stuck in the laundry room for 7 hours.

Monday: Because of the activities of the weekend--namely Maggie's Medical Adventure in Hospital Land-- I spent 7 hours in the laundry room. But at least we were all in relative good health.

Tuesday: I spent the day in bed trying not to expire from The Worst Cold Ever. Seriously. It was the worst. I'm sure it was worse than any cold suffered by any human in the history of the world. Do you know why? Because it was happening to me. Duh! Anyway. It was nasty. And gross. And horrible. But at least it wasn't a migraine.

Wednesday: I spent the day in bed trying not to expire from The Migraine From Hell. This sucker came roaring in about the time I took Mary to the bus stop. She looked at me and said, "I can tell you don't feel good. Does your head hurt?" When I barely nodded my aching noggin, she said, "Oh I'm sorry! But at least you didn't throw up!" So naturally when I got back to the house, the vomiting started. Migraines are horrible. Vomiting is bad. But combining the two is a rather specific sort of hell. You can't keep your migraine meds down because you're vomiting. And because of this the pain continues, which leads to more nausea and vomiting. It's delightful. And by delightful I mean I spent a very long time wishing that God would just kill me already before my eyeballs exploded from the pressure leaving a nasty mess for someone--probably my mother, because goodness knows the people I live with wouldn't know what cleaning up was like--to clean up. I was finally able to time the medication just right with the waves of nausea and passed out in my bed with the heating pad covering my head. I couldn't think straight, but at least I had the power of speech.

Thursday: I woke up Thursday morning after 36 hours of fighting The Migraine From Hell and felt much better. But I sounded like Barry White. After he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day for 30 years. Except for when I had no voice at all. It was extremely sexy. I alternated between a squeaky whisper and a very bass rasp. It's no wonder that my husband, upon returning from a business trip gave me an air kiss in the area of my forehead. While holding his breath. Lucky guy. I had been stuck in the house all week, but at least I'd be getting out tomorrow for lunch with a group of friends.

Friday: Lunch with friends was lovely. Unfortunately it was a very small group, as a couple of the girls discovered at the last minute that they couldn't come. Still, lunch with friends is always a good thing. And this lunch was great after the week I'd had. I was out of bed, I was out of the house, my head felt normal, I could breathe, (well, sort of. Every breath made my sinus cavities feel like they do after you snort water.) and I had my voice back.

Saturday: Who blogs on Saturday?

Sunday: I finally found my kitchen island! It only took two hours of picking up, wiping down, disinfecting, vacuuming, and mopping, but there it was! Smack in the middle of my kitchen, right where I'd left it. Then there was shopping for shoes for prom with my daughter. And then shopping for a cape for my eldest son. Yes, a cape. I'm not sure why exactly, his explanation had something to do with his English class,  Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, and Batman. I'm shaking my head even as I type that. Then it was time for dinner, followed by the daily round of a little game I like to call "Who Has Homework?" wherein the various contestants tell me if they have homework, why it sucks, and why they shouldn't have to do it. This is followed by several rounds of a game I call "Do It Now Or I'll Continue To Make Threats I Won't Follow Through On." Then the movie "The Breakfast Club" was on and I had to stop and watch it, because, hey, it's "The Breakfast Club." Then, after editing my daughter's paper that she had to write for Geometry (yes, they make them write papers in math class. Ah, for the days when math class was spent doing, um, math!) I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Today: I get to do laundry and you get this mess of a post. We're ALL winners!!

Memories

I am four or five years old. The purple light of an early winter evening filters through the half windows of the unfinished basement in my parents' century old house, muting the hues of the multi-colored tiles on the floor and tinting the white painted brick walls with a tinge of blue . It smells of sawdust, newspaper, and damp. Up the stairs, I can hear the clatter and thump of my mother preparing dinner in the kitchen. I am crying. My brothers and I have been playing an indoor version of basketball in the low-ceilinged basement and I have been hit. My motor skills are not as well-developed as those of my older brothers. There is no actual basket so I have thrown the basketball up at the spot on the beam that has been designated the basket and it has bounced back and hit me on the bridge of my nose. I am surprised by the hit. And then I am angry and embarrassed. Then comes the pain. I am certain that my nose is bleeding. My brother Todd runs after the errant ball. My brother Jon comes over to check on me. He reassures me that my nose is not bleeding. Then he starts to say silly things. Suddenly I am trying hard to maintain my anger and tears. He continues to say things to try and make me laugh. He is successful. Tears are still sliding down my cheeks, but now I am giggling and feeling better. Todd hands me the ball and I try again.

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

I am twelve. I am in my bed, aching and feverish with yet another bout of strep throat. My throat feels like jagged pieces of glass have been embedded in it and swallowing is agony. Jon comes in. He has just come home from his job at Baskin-Robbins. He hands me a milkshake. It's mint chocolate chip, my favorite flavor. I take a sip and enjoy the taste and relax as the shake slides down my throat, cooling the rawness.

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

I am eighteen. I am in the front hall of the house. I am holding a long, white, rectangular box. As I slide the top off, a sweet and earthy scent escapes. Inside are a dozen yellow roses accompanied by a note telling me to "break a leg" in the play that night. The flowers are from my brother who is living in Texas, attending graduate school. I am delighted and touched by this, knowing that he is thinking of me and that he has spent money out of his very small budget to send me flowers.

The flowers sit in a vase on the piano in the front hall. They sit there even after their beauty and fragrance has faded, because I can't bring myself to throw them away.

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

I am twenty-three. I am standing in the narthex of the church I have attended my whole life. I am wearing my wedding gown. I am excited and happy. My brother, wearing a gray suit and a ponytail, approaches me. He gives me a hug and tells me he is proud of me and that he loves me. I am incandescent.

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

I am thirty-one. I am sitting on the green and maroon striped couch in the family room of my own home. My three and a half year old daughter and my 16 month old son are playing on the floor. I am wishing I was anywhere but here. I am at the edge of tears. I can't assemble my thoughts. I am feeling guilty because I am watching the children that I love, but wishing for the son I lost. The phone rings and it's my brother Jon. He is calling to find out how I am doing. I lie and tell him I'm doing okay. He tells me he wishes he could be with me. I start to cry. We talk some more and he tells me silly things. Tears are still sliding down my cheeks, but now I am giggling. He tells me he loves me and the phone call ends. The hole in my heart is still raw and ragged, but somehow a little less injured for having shared the pain.

I leave my children in the care of their grandmother and go to my room. I lay down and sleep for hours.

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

I am forty-three. I am in a room pulsing with music and crowded with people. I am at the class reunion for my brother and husband's class. I am talking with people I knew and looked up to when I was younger. I feel weird. It is unsettling to be on level ground with people who knew me as "Jon's younger sister." I look across the room and see my husband throwing his head back in laughter. I grin. As I glance around the room, I see the photo booth that has been set up. I walk over to the small circle of people where my brother is. I grab him by the wrist and yell in his ear. He nods and smiles. We walk over to the photo booth and part the curtain. I grab a pink feather boa and a cowboy hat. We take turns wearing them and mugging for the camera. We are laughing.  The camera stops flashing and we wait for our prints. We shake our heads and chuckle at the ridiculous poses we have been caught in. He kisses my cheek and heads off to talk with his friends.

When I get home, I put the photo strip on my refrigerator. I smile every time I glance at it.

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

I am forty-five. I have been in airports and on planes since 8:45 a.m. It is 6:40 p.m. as I shoulder my camera bag and guide my wheeled bag onto the escalator. As I head down, I glance to the baggage claim where my sister-in-law said they'd be waiting. I see him, sitting on the floor, looking at his phone. He doesn't know who he is at the airport to meet. He isn't aware of my presence. I weave my way through the crowds gathered at the baggage carousel and I say his name: "Jon!" He looks up and glances my way. I see the surprise flash across his face and then as he strides toward me, his face breaks into a grin. "Happy birthday!" I say. We hug, separate, and then hug again. As we walk toward the parking garage, we are talking and laughing. I climb into the car and I can't stop smiling.

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

He has memories of a time in his life without me. He remembers when it was just he and my brother. But this is exactly the opposite of what I remember. I cannot remember a time in my life when he and my brother were not there. Like my parents, they have just always been. And even though he lives a thousand miles away and we only see each other once a year, he has a permanence and a weight in my life. His presence has been imprinted on me and influenced me in ways that he can't imagine. I have been so very lucky to have him as an older brother and friend. I hope his next 50 years are abundant with blessings and joy.

The Post Where I Start Out Talking About One Thing And End Up Talking About Donuts (Mmmm...Donuts...)

I am a hot mess. I have been face-first in closets and cabinets for the last week, cleaning out, purging, organizing, and de-crapifying STUFF. Y'all. We have some STUFF around here. Too much STUFF. Like, I can't believe how much STUFF. Some of it is useful, some of it is pretty, some of it is memories. But much of it is crap. And I am not done. Not by a long shot. But other things have come into the picture that are causing me to have to pull my nose out of cabinets and closets and pantries.

I am leaving in six days for warmer climes. My beloved has a sales meeting in a warm place and the spouses have been invited to tag along. This has caused me jubilation because WARM! SUN! BEACH! But also panic, because ACK! Leaving for several days and relatives are coming in to care for my offspring and my house is sort of, well, a hot mess. Much like the housekeeper.

My parents are off enjoying their annual February in Florida trip, so we weren't able to bribe ask them to come watch the kids. This time, the punishment duties fall to my fabulous sister-in-law and her husband, Aunt Heather and Uncle Steve, whom we shall henceforth refer to as Aunt Hes and Uncle Buck. (Not the unemployed, betting on rigged horses part. And not because of a physical similarity to John Candy. But some of the other stuff? Um...maybe. The whole hatchet thing? Could totally see it happening.) The kids are very excited to have their aunt and uncle coming to stay for a few days. Aunt Hes has already promised a dance off. (Sort of wish I was going to be around for that...) And I'm terribly grateful for their willingness to come over and care for my kids. But you know, it means that I have to lay out routines and phone numbers and appointments and emergency stuff in pretty good detail. And also I need to cook a few meals ahead of time so that Aunt Hes won't have to cook. And I need to get the laundry as caught up as possible. (HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Shut up.) And I need to get the house cleaned so that they won't see how we really live.

Things are also tough because I have a severe case of PWS. This is not to be confused with PMS (which, at times, I may or may not have but you probably shouldn't go down that road because it can only lead to bad things...). I'm talking about a full-blown, Midwestern wintertime induced case of PWS-Pasty White Skin syndrome. If you know someone who lives in the Midwest, then you know what I'm talking about. The sun is pretty fickle 'round these parts during the winter months. Sometimes it doesn't come out for days. And when it does, it's as weak as Chuck Hagel during confirmation hearings. No? As weak as the NRA's reasoning behind their defense of assault weapons. No? As weak as my similes?  Bingo! Anyway, my point is: the sunshine, it is not so great in the winter. And the skin? Well it is covered virtually 24/7 with clothing. Because winter around here? Brrrr. And what does the combination of weak sunshine and virtual burqa-wear equal? Pasty White Skin. Hence my need to lurk around the tanning salon.

Yep. I'm outing myself. I have, for the first time in my 40-something years, been to a tanning salon. Now, I'm not talking about the spray tan that my daughter talked me into a few years ago that caused me to have carrot fingers. I'm talking about the lay-yourself-down-on-the-bed-with-the-cancer-causing-lights-that-your-mother-doctor-and-every-health-class-warned-you-about-tanning-bed. I know better. Really, I do. I am an SPF 50 kinda gal. True story. But vanity has overridden all of my common sense. And so I have found myself pulling up to the tanning salon, furtively glancing around before I get out of my car, and pulling my collar up around my face in hopes that I won't see someone I know. And it's not just because I'm not wearing makeup and I look, as my daughter would say, ratchet. (This definition is much easier to swallow than the one on urban dictionary.) I am afraid of running into someone and then having to justify myself for going to a tanning salon. The fact that the tanning salon sits right next to the doughnut shop is not a bonus. When you park in the lot, you are only going to one of two places, and neither of them look good. Hmmm....tanning or doughnuts? This is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't quandary. I mean, it's not as bad a quandary as say, Heroin Den/Brothel, but still. Tanning salon? Skin cancer! Doughnuts? Stuck in bathing suit yet again! It's a suburban mommy quandary.

So far, the tanning salon is winning. But if I start looking carroty, I'm thinking that a Bavarian may be the cure.

**I'll be busy tanning cleaning this hot-mess-house this week and then gone to warmer climes for most of next. But look for pictures to come the week after. And also, there could possibly be a wisdom tooth story as well. My daughter is having her wisdom teeth extracted immediately upon our return. Sad panda! However, this might produce significant blog fodder. Happy kitty! (Or something...)

Catch Up

No. This is not a post about condiments. I fear that if I were to post my preference of ketchup to salsa or mustard to mayonnaise, I would be setting myself up for controversy. And, I don't know if you've been aware, but we've had an election in this country and it has been a little bit heated and divisive. I can't take it anymore. So I am avoiding the whole thing altogether and am just going to talk about non-controversial stuff that's been happening around here in between the sky falling and half of the country readying itself to pack up and move to somewhere else. Ahem.

Let's see...

The kids had fall break a couple of weeks ago. We are boring and also, I am horrible, because I had the nerve to schedule a physical for myself on one of the days of fall break, thus not allowing us to go anywhere. Gosh, am I selfish! (Actually, blame the doctor. I called waaaay back in August and couldn't get in until October. Don't even get me started on trying to see the LadyBits doctor.) (Hi dad!) So we spent one of the days visiting Conner Prairie, a local living history museum. It is a gem of a place that we should visit more and if you are ever in the Indianapolis area, I highly recommend a visit.
Our first stop was the Lenape Indian camp where an interpreter gave us some interesting history and tied it to people and places that we know about in Indiana.

Sean and Mary in a Lenape style canoe. Getting edumacated.

Maggie, grinding corn. She's pretty sure she likes the time she's living in right now.

Wow, this horse is really tame. 

Then we headed to the Conner house, took in some information there and headed around back to the great view and the fabulous hill so that the kids could roll down it.

"Whoa. Now I'm dizzy!"

"Whoa. Now I'm dizzy! And itchy! So itchy!"

Probably wasn't the same view Mr. Conner had, but still, not bad.

Yes, we are missing a child. He preferred sleep to family time. Go figure. Also, so much for Christmas card pictures!

After that, we headed to the barn to pet sheep, goats, and calves. And also to comment on the smell. What a bunch of city slickers I live with!

She wasn't sure she should disturb the sheep while it was snacking.

Not quite 17 hands tall. Also, this face? Apparently it is the new "duck face." I see girls all over social media looking mildly alarmed.

Giddyap!

This is the slowest horse EVER!

Feeding the calf. I am mooing while I'm taking this picture. She is embarrassed to be near me. 

Then we headed to the forge to see the blacksmith. Sean loved this area. We all liked watching the blacksmith work. The blacksmith liked watching Maggie. Maggie's daddy didn't like the blacksmith. We left the smithy and made many remarks about Maggie being of marrying age and how a smith was a pretty good catch, what with job stability and all. Maggie walked far in front of us. The end.

Hey girl, I can shoe your horse or make you a spatula. 

We visited the village, where Mary was invited to play the piano at the doctor's house and we learned that children had a good number of rules to follow at the dining table. Also, my children decided that they wouldn't want to have to live without indoor plumbing.

Took a little bit of persuasion, but then she played Yankee Doodle, a song which was setting appropriate.

Dang! Where is that 4th child?! This would've been a good one!

Next we headed to the 1860's and learned about the Confederate raid on Indiana and were startled by a Union soldier up on a telegraph pole. 

Unfortunately, we didn't get a shot of me being startled by pans flying off the wall in the mercantile when the rebs came in and tore up the place. Yep. My kids are always happy to be around me.

So. Conner Prairie. Good times.

Also, this happened:

No. She doesn't have her license. Yet.  But we purchased a second family vehicle in anticipation of that event. Before, we just had the minivan and Pat's company vehicle, which only he is allowed to drive. I mean, I could drive it, but I'm pretty sure the Horsemen of the Apocalypse would have to be chasing me. And they would have to be fleeing zombies. So you know, a second vehicle was in order. Plus, having the Element allows Maggie the avoid the shame of having to drive a minivan. I don't know how I've withstood the humiliation of driving one for so many years. Ahem.


And there was also this:

Happy Halloween. Now give me candy before my fearsome K-9 and I arrest you.

Mary would like you to know that her Halloween costume is that of a K-9 officer. Maggie would like you to know that she's going as a Supermodel and isn't wearing a costume. I would like you to know that I'm rolling my eyes.

Hi, I'm Officer Mary and this is my K-9 officer Sparkle the Chihuahua. Please notice my cheesy grin and provide me with candy. Thanks!

This is ONE child's haul from Halloween. He was worried that he might not have enough to share a few pieces with the kids who didn't trick or treat. I think we might need to have a conversation about "enough."

And finally, with much celebration, there was this:

I didn't get a sticker in the last election. I was very sad. This year, the gentleman working the polls let me take two! One for my coat and one for my clothes. I was like an 8 year old. Because it's all about the sticker, right?

And that is absolutely as political as I will get. Stickers = Yay! Hooray! Yippee! All is right with the world!
No stickers = The sky is falling! I'm moving to another country!