This is what happens when you annoy the person who is in charge of hiding your eggs:
This is what happens when the person hiding your eggs thinks you are cute and funny:
If you are lucky, some sweet soul will take pity upon you and retrieve the egg that was "hidden" 6 feet over your head.
The moral of this story is this: Be nice. You never know who will be hiding your eggs.
Hello, Mr. Zebra. Prepare to die.
This man has been waiting many, many years to see you meet your grim fate. He is excited to see you come to your wretched end, Mr. Zebra.
See how this man is dancing a jig while he strings up Mr. Zebra? Oh, the joy!!
How's the view from up there, Mr. Zebra? Any last words? Perhaps a scream of terror before we release the beasts? No? Okay, then Mr. Zebra. You will now experience a bit of the pain you have inflicted on so many others in your career.
Yes, we are teaching our children to follow in a grand Easter tradition of beating an effigy senseless. Because nothing says "Happy Easter" like a dead Mr. Zebra.
The fatal blow.
And now the 
Mr. Zebra seems surprised--or possibly horrified-- at his fate.
Oh dear. Mr. Zebra seems to have gone and lost his head. 
You died too soon, Mr. Zebra. This man's vengeance was not satisfied. Now you must suffer more.
I am fairly certain there are laws against mutilation of the dead. But I am also pretty sure that they don't apply to the likes of you, Mr. Zebra.
Now your tattered remains serve as a warning to all the other Zebras out there lest they blow their whistles and hand out foolish decisions. They do so at their own peril. Your fate could be theirs.
I've been busy with a new craft project lately. I learned how to make coasters from napkins and tile. (Hey, that sounded kinda MacGyver-ish. Someday I will blog the story of how I learned to start my car using a paper clip. For real--I did!) I've made a few sets so far. Some for me and others for hostess and teacher gifts. This is what I've made so far:
The sets on the bottom are for me. The polka dot set is for my mom. It's a cheap inexpensive project and I think the results are pretty nice. I just found some really cute napkins at Tuesday Morning so I will be making more in the very near future.
I have also been having a love affair with Goodwill and spray paint. So far I've found frames and made 2 bulletin boards--one small for under the cabinets in the planning desk area of the kitchen(here's the before and after of the small bulletin board)
and a larger one for near the pantry. I've also refurbished some tins that I had and will use them in my pantry.
And then, I found a tray that I just love. When I found it--and I should have taken a before picture--it was Kelly green. Um...no. Just no. So my beloved spray paint and I painted it black.
Then, I found a chair for Maggie's room that will hopefully someday be paired with a desk. We are going to paint it "wild" to match in her room. The picture frame has a date with some spray paint, then I have other plans for it. I'll post the after when it's done. The metal basket/planter thingy will be next in line for paint and it may be used in my pantry project. The little white towel rack will meet the spray paint as well. Then I think it will find a home in my laundry room.
Come back later as I'm posting again today for a combined Love Thursday/Photo Friday since I'll be unavailable to post over the Easter weekend.
There is a turf war going on in my neighborhood, but it's not between the Jets and the Sharks or even the Crips and the Bloods. It's much more serious. Feathers are flying, people.
It seems that the Chickadee that started moving into the birdhouse in our yard is having a property dispute with a Sparrow. The Chickadee, who was moving in first and would seem to have ownership is fighting fiercely, but it seems to be an uphill battle. The Sparrow is squatting. It's totally not the Sparrow's house, but he's moving in anyway.
I've been watching the battle through my kitchen window over the last few days. Both birds are working furiously to gather materials and build their nests. The Chickadee will arrive with a few choice pieces of dry grass, look about alertly and then hop from branch to branch, finally depositing his treasure in the birdhouse. Then he'll fly away for more.
Meanwhile, Squatter, the Sparrow arrives with his twigs and boldly enters the birdhouse. Then he pokes his head out only to encounter a hopping mad Chickadee who twitters and flits wildly about Squatter's head. Squatter blithely ignores the smaller bird and takes his time coming out. Then they both fly away to gather more nesting supplies and it starts all over again.
I don't know who will win. Pick a side and let me know who you think will come out on top in The Battle of the Birdhouse. Stay tuned, I'll let you know the outcome.
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Mary is in school this week. What's that noise? Oh, I know--silence! My eardrums are jumping up and down. (What, don't your eardrums jump?)
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My comments are still broken and I am wildly frustrated. GGGAAHHHH!!!
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Tilly is going in to the groomers tomorrow for a bath and nail trimming. Normally, I give her a bath, but since we are visiting family for Easter, I decided that she needed to smell better than she does when I'm done bathing her.
When I'm done giving her a bath she smells like clean, wet dog. After she dries, she smells like clean dog. Now, that's fine because she is, after all, a dog. But when she gets a bath from the groomers, she smells like raspberries! And nothing says "Hello! Happy Easter!" like a dog who smells like raspberries, right? Plus, she gets a bandanna around her neck, so you know--that's her new Easter Outfit.
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I am my father's liquor supplier. He drinks Three Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's. He doesn't have a Trader Joe's near where he lives--one of the trade-offs of small town living--so unless he wants to drive to St. Louis, Chicago or Indy, he relies on me to bring him his fix. Yes, I am an enabler.
I just made my father sound really bad in that last paragraph. Not my intention, I assure you. His cases of wine last a very long time. MUCH longer than they would around here, probably. He drinks one glass a day and someday, I want to be just like him, because he has his glass at about 3 in the afternoon. That's school dismissal time around here. Which is EXACTLY the time I would enjoy a glass of wine. I refrain, however, because I am a Responsible Parent of Young Children. Sigh...I need to retire.
Yesterday as I was out running errands my cell phone rang and it showed my dad's number. My dad isn't a big conversationalist on the phone. My mother and I talk every day. Occasionally, my dad will get on the phone and say hello and find out what's going on--usually when my mom hands him the phone and tells him to talk. So when my dad's number registers on my phone, it's either to tell me that someone is ailing or dying, or he wants me to pick up his booze.
It's okay. He shows his love for me in other ways. Plus, I know he's really good about sharing. Get me a trough ready, daddy, I'll be seeing you soon.
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How did this house go from neat and clean on Saturday to the Pit of Despair today? The children that live here are undisciplined slobs. My real children (you know, the ones I was having before I actually had children--those perfect little figments of my imagination) are neat and clean and pick up after themselves and never sass me. I wonder if those children are looking for me. If you see them, would you tell them I'm looking for them too?
I'll be right here. Under this pile of dirty laundry.
My eldest son James has always been a thinker. He looks at things from different angles, questions, argues, and then questions some more. This is not to say that he is argumentative, because generally, he isn't. Of all of my children, he is the one who most often knows when to be quiet. But, he has always asked "what if" and "why does" and "do you think" types of questions.
When he was little, around 3 or 4, he would ask things that I could generally answer. Typical questions like: "Why is the sky blue?" or "Do you think that T. Rex was the strongest dinosaur?" Eventually, as he grew, these questions grew and evolved with him. Some were serious: "Why did we have World War II?" "What if we never had to sleep?" Others bordered on the ridiculous--a hint of things to come: "Who do you think would win in a fight, a wooly mammoth or a saber toothed tiger?"
Almost always I was able to answer these questions in a way that made sense for him at the time. And if I couldn't, I did what most responsible parents would--I told him to do some research and find the answer or offered to help him research the answer, or I pointed him in the direction of someone who could answer the question. Also, sometimes, I did what irresponsible parents do--namely, I lied, made up, embellished or otherwise constructed an answer that would PLEASE GOD shut him up for a while...
This leads up to my favorite hypothetical of all time (so far). This weekend we were in the car driving by the resevoir that we live near. We were driving over a bridge when James, seeing the expanse between the opposite shorelines, posited this doozy: "Mom, do you think that when Ben Franklin was young, he could've swam across that lake?"
As I was rolling around several answers in my head, and getting ready to respond with the winner("Um...what now?) my youngest son, Sean, beat me to the punch. Laughing, he said, "I think James thinks you're old enough that you would know that! You know, like you were around when Ben Franklin was young!"
At that, both boys erupted in guffaws and hoots of laughter and I was left nonplussed. I did tell James that in the future, he could start asking those questions to his father. Hmph.
**Still trying to fix comments!!
