"Funny"

We bought this little stick horse for M this morning.

Hubby was in charge of hiding it from her.

Of course that's my side of the bed.

Christmas Cards

This year, I decided to make some crafty little Christmas cards. I've been doing some scrap booking and I figured I had enough tools in my arsenal to make something decent.

So I made this:

Oops, I guess the inside clearly shows that I did not make this card.

So, I went ahead and made this:

Oh, dear. Not this one either.

And none of these below.

It turns out, that when I went to the craft store to get some very minor items for supplies, that my original card design was not going to work. AT ALL.

So the nice lady sold me even more tools (I swear that they must work on commission at the Hobby Lobby...), that are even more complicated than what I had originally planned. Like an embossing gun. And embossing powder...

And I became very, very tired.

So I made this one.

I really did.

You can see my name signed very clearly within the card.
Because I was so tired thinking of all the color and hooah in my original design, my actual card turned out very plain.
I did use the embossing powder and gun.

I burned myself--of course.

And frankly, I think plainer is better when it is your first homemade Christmas card. And when you sometimes drink wine whilst crafting, and when you've promised to send said homemade card to Boss.

Yes. Yes, I really think plainer was better in this situation.

And then, with my extra time, I put some ornaments on our family tree! I made that tree.

And I made these too.

M--Age 2

The Elf

J sometimes asks why he isn't in more photos of ours. What can I tell him? He's not at our house as often as the rest of us are, and so the proportion of photos is balanced in our favor.

Last night, I wanted to take a picture of him.
"Awwww. No, thanks." he said.

"You are always wanting to be in more photos." I said. "Now is your chance."

"Well, I guess if you reallllllly want to take a picture. Then that's fine." he said. "This won't be going on the blog, will it?"

"J," I said. "Not everything has to go on the blog!"

I didn't lie. Not everything has to go on the blog. But this does!

December drill

Tomorrow and Sunday is December drill for my National Guard unit.


I'm not going.

I'm done with drill. (We'll see if they call. The Army gets so mixed up...)

If all goes well, this will officially be the first time in 11 years that I've only had ONE JOB!

Oh, the shame...

I was clipping T's finger and toenails tonight.

While I was holding his little fingers and clipping, he noticed that I happened to have a raw spot near one of my cuticles. "Oh NO!" he said. "You're hurt!"

"Yes." I said.

And I continued clipping.

"Did you fall?" he said.

"Nope." I said.

"Well, what happened Mommy? What happened to your finger?"

Because one is not supposed to lie, not even to save face in front of a three year old...I had to tell him the truth.

"I was picking at my fingernail." I said. Clearly this "picking at my fingernail" had no meaning to him. He had greater expectations of me.

"What? You were picking at your fingernail? You mean you were hanging on the bars and you fell?" he said.

(The "bars" at preschool are only for the very coordinated or the brave of heart. T falls off of these and sustains injuries nearly every day.)

"Nope." I said.

"You were running really, really fast and you fell and hurt your finger?"

"Nope." I said.

"You were flying in the air, really high up in the air, and then your finger got hurt?"

"Nope." I said, ready to put an end to this humiliating conversation. "I was just picking at my fingernail."

"Oh." he said. "Well maybe you shouldn't pick your fingernail Mommy."

Thank you T.

Slow Moving Thought Processes

T was Thomas the train for Halloween. M was a spider web. Very nice.

Since then, T has been a little bit obsessed, talking about what he is going to be for next Halloween. Sometimes he'll ask to be a dragon, sometimes a ghost, and once he requested to be Daddy.

Last night on the way home he says to me, "Mommy, I want to be an injun for Halloween."

I gasped in horror. In grad school one of the papers we had to write was about library services for a group in need. I chose to look at one of the Ojibwe tribes in my home state. It was such an interesting experience and the people I met during the interviews were full of such a sense of culture and pride. I couldn't bear to hear my son call them "injuns".

"You mean an Indian," I said firmly. "A Native American."

"No, MOMMY. An INJUN." he said. Then he laughed maniacally, like he sensed that what he was saying was terribly derogatory.

"T," I said. "The "injuns" are the Native American people. They were here first. There are many tribes and each tribe has a unique and special culture. You should make sure you call them the correct name."

He sighed. He's so used to being corrected all of the time...

"Mommy," he said. "I want to be a Naadibe American for Halloween. Like Thomas!"


--Like Thomas.

Thomas the train ENGINE.

No sense me jumping to conclusions or anything.

The Junior FH!

The Indignity of It All

Aren't you glad you don't live at your childhood home any more?

At the mercy of your parents?

That you are not forced to suffer indignities at the hands of the very people who are supposed to love you the most?

That you are capable of independent living? You have skills? And have other options, choices?

Well,
M can't even drink out of a big person cup yet.

So WE are her only option.

Isn't she cute?

I remember when they were just babies...

And now, two eggs per day!

I made this!

Agricultural Products

Our barren, spinster hens...

Have FINALLY produced eggs!
2 Tiny eggs...

Below, T has been told to quit grabbing at the eggs and get at "parade rest".

And on another note,
Here are some photos of our family in Abe Lincoln hats...

B-day Pics

Formal Group Photos:

Off to a good start.

Some variance from the planned poses.

All heck breaks loose.

Snapshots:

M and the barren, spinster hens.

Down the hill.

Up the hill.

Still. Going. Up. The. Hill. (Rest period was shortly after this.)

"Hey--Why aren't I in the wheelbarrow?"

M--Just prior to learning the difficulty of propelling oneself forward in a wheelbarrow.

[Photo removed for violent content.]

Auntie gives M a wheelbarrow ride.

Inside, Charlie was given a puzzle. You can see how he truly "enjoys" sharing his bed with miscellaneous junk placed there by tiny children.

Cake.

Like I really need more cake.

"All I got was this darn puzzle."

Things I did the day of my Birthday Celebration:

1. Dropped off treats at church. Slightly late.
2. Left church early due to misbehavior on part of accompanying minor children.
3. Got an iced coffee and breakfast burrito on way home. Got nothing for naughty, naughty youngsters.
4. Beautiful sunny day. Worked in yard. Played outside. Ran after happy children.
5. Sat briefly in garden swing. Ran after happy children some more.
6. Broke up fight over pink chalk.
7. Happy children became tired children who stood at door and stared longingly inside.
8. Nap time for children! Free time for Me!
9. Prepared tomatoes for fresh garden salsa.
10. Children woke up. Left my Mother to slave over rest of salsa and went outside and played with fairly well-behaved children.
11. Sat briefly in garden swing.
12. Found baby bunnies!
13. Fought urge to capture bunnies and keep as pets.
14. Taught children to respect and admire wildlife. (i.e--said over and over, "No, don't touch the bunnies. Of course we can't keep them. Stop poking them with the leaves. No, don't touch the bunnies..."
15. Had Leinenkugel's Oktoberfest--Thank you F!
16. Convinced children to go inside and eat chips and salsa.
17. Outside again. F grillin'.
18. Found toad!
19. Peed on by toad!
20. Taught children to respect and admire wildlife. (i.e.--said over and over, "No, don't squeeze the toad. Of course we can't keep him, he'd die in captivity. Trust me. Mommy knows. No, don't squeeze the toad."
21. Made mistake of telling nephew that toads would bite viciously if given the chance.
22. Went and soothed nephew.
23. Another Oktoberfest!--Thank you F!
24. Reassembled kaput garden swing. Still, to this day, no one knows what happened to it.
25. Wheelbarrow rides down the hill for the boys. Rest periods in between trips!
26. Went and soothed daughter who was throwing plastic wheelbarrow around and kicking and screaming face down on the ground.
27. Held daughter in wheelbarrow while Auntie pushed up and down hill.
28. Pork chops. Biscuits--2 kinds. Cauliflower and broccoli. Fancy salad.--Thank you F!
29. Ice cream cake with fudge!--Thank you F!
30. Bath, bed, nighttime, sleep. 30 yrs old and too tired to watch a movie.
Pretty basic day. Pretty much perfect.

T and the doll

T loves this doll.
He patiently nurses her. He totes her around with him. He gives her rides on the tricycle.

But like all good parents who encourage independence and cultivate responsibility in the young ones that they raise, he knows when it is time for them to spread their wings and fly.

So, he violently tosses her out of the protective shell that is the gated playroom and shouts,
"Time for you to go to work!"

It appears that she has fallen in a most ungracious manner. But he knows. He knows he has done his job well and she will pick herself up and land on her feet.

**Try not to be jealous of our wood paneling...Not just one, but two styles of wood paneling.
We are very lucky folks.

The Harvest

So, I had a woman come over and lemon oil all our woodwork in the house. She was very nice and I thought she did a super job.

When she arrived to give me an estimate, I had to show her all around the house--because there is woodwork all around the house. In. Every. Room.
Every Room is always a bit slovenly. Ahem, I mean, just slovenly right now.

In one particularly frightful room, I looked at this woman, this stranger. I looked her right in her face and said in the most huffy and overwrought voice that I could muster, "I'm sorry about the mess right now. It's just that we are so very busy with the harvest."

She looked around at the masses of laundry, the dog hair, the scattered and abused toys and then over at the very neat, but tiny set-up where I had the water bath canner and my most recent production of 7 pint jars...She didn't bat an eye. She didn't grimace or giggle or derisively snort. She simply said, "I understand."

So, for the record, the "harvest" thus far (and I think the gardening season is ending) is 19 pint jars of tomatoes and 4 gallon bags of freezer tomatoes. Not too bad a "yield" for my first year of "harvesting".

F

J

T school--First day was Aug. 26th

T has started preschool 5 days a week. The days are full days. This is a big change, because he has always been home with F two days a week.

I'll always get second-hand information, because F will be picking him up every day. F will get the scoop about the day first, and by the time I see T, he'll be onto something new and getting accurate information will be difficult.
However, the first day, before bed, he did manage to tell me that he cried at preschool. "I cried at preschool today Mommy." he said.
"I cried like this, waaaah, waaaah, waaaah. Like a baby."
That's all he said and then he laughed like a nut and went to bed.

On Monday I asked him what he had for lunch at preschool. He always tells about the same lunch no matter where he eats. It's wishful thinking.
"I had chips and crackers and dip."
MmHm.
To further my questioning, I asked him if he used a lunch tray at school. They supposedly have the preschoolers go through the cafeteria line just like the big kids.
"Yeah, I did use a tray. Sure I did Mommy."
MmHm.
I believed this about as much as I believed that he had "chips and crackers and dip" for lunch.
I asked him what color his lunch tray was.
"Ummm. It was kind of a golden brown color."

Well, that might be accurate then. It sounds like a pretty standard lunch tray color.

Yesterday was already some kind of teacher workshop day. For fun, I took the day off to spend with T. He got up in the morning and told me he was going to get his backpack.
I told him he wasn't going to preschool, that he was going to stay home with me for fun.
He still ran full speed ahead toward his hanging backpack--shouting back at me as he ran.
"OKAY MOMMY. THAT'S OKAY. I JUST HAVE SOMETHING IN THERE. I JUST HAVE SOMETHING INSIDE MY BACKPACK!"
He clambered up the little step stool and got his backpack down and proceeded to unzip all the pockets until he pulled out an apparently homemade chocolate chip cookie in a ziploc baggie.
MmHm.
"Where did you get that?" I said.
He ran downstairs to the kitchen table-again shouting back at me as he ran.
"UMMMM. I THINK MRS. ******* GAVE IT TO ME. I THINK SHE GAVE IT TO ME. I WAS CRYING AND THERE WAS A CAR AND THEN THE COOKIE. MY COOKIE."

What the heck does that even mean? I have so many questions and no answers. He "thinks" that the teacher gave him the cookie? Does she know she gave him the cookie or did he somehow stealthily take the cookie from her or from someone? Did she give him the cookie because he was crying? Did he cry to get the cookie? What does this all have to do with a car? How did he wait to eat the cookie all that long time? A whole night? Is he related to me?

Did I let him eat the cookie of unknown origin?

You bet I did.