Dear Technology Gods,

The funniest thing happened the other day:  Abe learned to crawl on the dining room chairs.  Which led him to exploring new levels:  the dining room table top.  He was such a crack-up, dancing about, bopping in his “I rock” kind of way.

After a bit of revelry, I took him down.  He climbed up again.

And again.

And again.

It’s not so funny now, finding all of the placemats on the floor, picking up the newspaper as it’s been strewn about like giant confetti.

[Insert image of Abe smiling with dimples on top of dining room table].

See how proud he is of himself?  He climbs up multiple times every hour.  This morning while I was cleaning up the mess he made of his brother’s breakfast on one side of the table, he attacked my Bob’s Red Mill High Fiber Hot Cereal with chopped almonds, flax seed, protein powder, and freshly picked strawberries from our patch.  Dandy.

Wait, what’s that?  You say you can’t see the picture?  Is it that the picture is somewhat faintt?  Oh, you only see *words*?  No pictures?  Oh, well, that would be because you have smoted us again with your nasty tech karma, and our digital camera is busted.  The preschooler had been really careful with it lately, so I let him take some shots.  As he bounded into the garage to document his dad painting, he tripped over a (conveniently placed) piece of wood.  Sadly, the camera has bounced its last.

Oh, and thanks for mucking up the car cd player which contains cds that won’t play and won’t come out.  And you know, I didn’t really need the sound coming out of the left earbud of my Ipod:  nope, surround sound it *totally* overrated.  And how hormonal my computer is?  Maybe that’s not your fault:  I should just come to terms that it’s entered its menopausal phase of life - that puppy gets hot and shuts right down.  But remember last night?  When I went to shut off JJ’s fan, discovering that it now only points at the ceiling and won’t aim anywhere else?  I know you’ll say that was all about the preschooler, but *someone* had to whisper those sweet nothings of “that fan certainly looks like an excellent step stool” in his ear.

If I were a good person, I would learn a lesson from this.  I don’t need technology!  I shouldn’t be so attached!  Things are overrated!  Look how I’ve entered into the consumer mentality and add to the unsustainable lifestyle currently overruning the majority of the developed countries!  I have so much to be grateful for!

And yet . . . .

I really miss the camera.

I miss taking pictures with my little men.  I miss scrolling through photos and laughing at little crack-up moments caught on film.  I miss finding a great shot and building a post around it.

I know you’re teaching me, technology gods, and I’m trying to learn (with minimal grumbling).  I do have one request, though:  keep your mits off my hubby.  He may work in IT, but that’s just a line you do not want to cross (although if you broke him of his habit of piling all his dirty clothes by his side of the bed, I might not mind that so much).  Oh, and if you could hold off on breaking the DS until I finish Elite Beat Agents, I’d really appreciate it.

Respectfully (albeit grudgingly because I don’t really have a choice) yours,

~Dren

Daily Drivel | No Comments »

Dear Son J,

It’s been a while since I’ve done an update with you, eh?  Normally I would say that you were oblivious, but today I found you nosing around on Flickr, looking at pictures of your brother.  How you got there, I’ll never know.  But you did note that there were lots of pictures of your brother - that’s only because he sits still, Love.  And earlier today while I was watching a *car-ay-zee* video, with your brother on my lap because he had just woken up, you looked at me and said, “Is there room, Mama?  I think there’s room!  I think I see a spot!” and promptly scootched your tookus on my free knee to enjoy some quality viewing time.  Then, at lunch you fell apart when your father needed some Throne Time and took your brother to give me some peace (Abe doesn’t get much bathroom time because bathroom doors are to be closed.  At.all.times.  Lest someone start blessing the house with his fairy toilet brush wand, or opening that one non-child-proofed drawer, which blocks the door, and then mama and baby start wailing when the cries of “Please, baby, just shut the drawer and I can get you out!” are more interpreted as Open the Drawer Wider and Wail and Scream).   I told your dad that I think you’re feeling left out.  I can’t imagine why, since I’ve only mentioned stories about Abe pretty much since I started this missive.   :S

You are a darling boy, did you know that?  You have very definite likes and dislikes, and oftentimes your likes get overlooked and your dislikes are focused on.  So for your birthday, I decided it was Do Things JJ Likes Day in which I entertained your (mostly) every whim.

So we went to Freddies.  It was as though Fate deemed it Your Day as well, because lo and behold, right next to my parking space, was this contraption:

Which I have nevereverevereverever let you ride in:  once the door has been opened (like giving the federal government power), it’s near impossible to close.  “Mama!  I ride in the bus!  Please!  It’s my birfday . . .”  How can I say no to that, or these precious drivers - look out!

Miss Michelle, cashier over self-checkout extraordinaire, usually gives you stickers.  But today, ooooh today, you got your own Freddie’s Rewards Card, which you refer to as your Fred Card.  And stickers:  can I tell you how many stickers I have littering my car floor?  They’re so worth it, though:  have you ever seen better looking cheeks?  Freddie’s should be paying you money for advertising.

Then we went to the Dollar Tree because you wanted, you needed, your little heart’s cry was for one thing:  a balloon.  And so, you got one.

Then off to Chapters for milk with sf vanilla syrup and a green gummi worm.  But first, randomness in the ‘berg.  You know how you see weird things and think, “Gosh, I wish I had my camera sitting on my lap?”  Presto.

Again with the spoiling:  your classmate’s mom who works at Chapters lets you pick the color of gummi worm.  And points out where the Star Wars books are:  what more does a boy need?

Oh, that’s right:  friends!  To drink milk with!  And read Star Wars with!  And make guns out of the totally-not-gun-making-material building toys.  Sigh.

Where else does Judah like to go?  The toy store.  Yes, we have one in town.  Yes, we’ve been there on a regular basis.  And yes, we’ll be going back.

But the fun doesn’t stop there!  Off to the pet store!  To play with turtles and find Nemo and not look at the puppies that desperately wanted to be taken home (oh, it hurt me inside.  But I managed to stay strong:  my arms were too busy taking pictures and pushing around strollers and making sure people avoided stepping in turtle poop to reach my wallet).

It’s good to have a tribe to hang out with.

During lunch you got to take pictures.  Again with the doing things that you like that you don’t often get to do without hearing “Ack!  Put it down!  Slowly!  Gently!  No, it doesn’t bounce!”

Naptime:  not your favorite.  So you just bounced around playing with balloons and watching “Wachael Way!”

Until Dad came home and then, special treat, off to Wendy’s for Dinner with Dad!  Oh, the love of Wendy’s runs deep with this one (as with ones before him).

Special treat:  one of the specialist treats of all - SURPISE VISIT FROM UNCA MATT!  Almost every day JJ asks if he can see Unca Matt, and almost every day it’s, “No.”  I know I should try to phrase it in a more positive light (melancholy’s need all the postivitity they can get), but seriously, how many ways can you say, “Nuh uh.  Not today.  Maybe later.  He’s at work.  He’s at home.  He doesn’t live here.  He has to be a functioning adult and can’t spend all day running into walls and falling over with you, as much as he would love to.”  Only so many.

Unca Matt fed into the all-consuming frenzy that is Star Wars, introducing our very first Action Figures.  And JJ can already provide the music for them to “lightsaver” to (ah, the Death March.  It may be the death of me).

He also hooked up JJ with some more love - the love of Mario, the love of Wii, the love of baseball, and the love of gaming.

Quite an epic battle took place, one that details the outcome quite obviously (and typically, at least when it comes to physical games - coordination is not our strong suit).

When I asked you what you wanted for your birthday, you responded, “Um . . . a cake!  With candles.  And fire.  And balloons.”  “What type of cake?”  “Uh, purple?”  So I complied.

And it was enjoyed.

Darling boy, I can’t believe you’ve travelled around the sun four whole times!  Some days seem to go sooooo sloooooowly.  But then there’s those times that I blink, and all of a sudden you can read words like “apple” and “computer” (a coincidence?).  This past Sunday at church someone was talking about your child being “a blank slate, or rather a book for you to study”.  I realized that I’m an observer, and I love pouring over the lines of your life:  watching you run amuck with your tribe, seeing you squeal as you hit a Wii home run, catching you showing Abe what hand on Obi Wan best holds the “lightsaver”.  I don’t feel that I get to do it all that often, though, because while I’m an observer, you’re an interactor.  And right now one of your favorite people to interact with is me.  Sometimes I see that as an annoyance:  how can I observe when you’re talking to me and already asking if Dad’s coming home for lunch and it’s only 10:15?  Then there are those times that you won’t let me just observe, but you force me to interact in this life, to be present and active and doing.  You aren’t content just knowing about things;  you must be doing them, and you want to bring all your people along with you to do them as well.  I don’t always interact well, son, and for that I apologize.  Thank you for being persistent with me, for drawing me in (sometimes kicking and screaming) so I can live in the lines of your book.  You are my sunshine boy.

Love, Ma

JJ Jawings, Mama Musings | 3 Comments »

If it’s possible to catch him at all . . . .

Summer is coming to an end, and this week begins our Reality That is the Preschool Year and All That Comes with It (if this week is any indications, a lot of Kashi bars and string cheese and blue corn chips).  Last spring we received a notice that JJ’s current school would be taking a sabbatical; thus began the great scramble to find some sort of organized education for our little extrovert.  Phone call after phone call of “We’d love to have JJ!  His birthday is what?  Past the cutoff?  Well, we have a junior class.  He’s been spelling for how long?  Oh, well, you have fun finding a place for him!”  It seemed so early to already be miffed at the system that is American education.

Enter Beloved Teacher L who has been teaching for many, many years and has a classroom on her property in the country where the children can have lessons in the orchard and is very classical in her teaching style and has a two . . . or three . . . year waiting list.  Gimme gimme please.  “Oh, but I’m all full:  I only take 12 students.”  Sadness.  “But . . . I’ve been thinking about taking one more . . . .”  Pleaseohplease.  And hurrah!  Her husband, who I used to work with, will be helping her out, and JJ was in!

We’ve been talking up school for quite some time, that it was on the 9th (”in nine months!” somehow was his interpretation), that many of his friends from last year (about 2/3’s of the class) would be there but not all (which is fairly confusing:  “where is JonahBraden?” - inseparable boys in many ways), that it will be three days a week instead of two (”no fanks!” was his polite response), and that we would be shifting from morning to afternoon class (shaking both of our worlds).

Yesterday JJ decided to practice getting dressed for school during his Quiet Time.  First, last year’s soccer shirt is sure to make an impression.  It shows his fun and sporty side:

Oh, but that’s not enough.  For those times when he needs to look a little dressier, a little more suave, his new shirt from Aunt Karla that he got for his upcoming birthday:

Go BSU!  But wait:  what happens if he needs to get his sport back on?  That is his more dominant side.  Oh yes, another soccer shirt:

When asked why one would put on three shirts during Bang Things Alone in Your Room Time, JJ responded, “Because I can, and because it’s coo, and because I wike (like)’em.”  ‘Nuff said.

In the end we (I) decided that we (he) would be too restricted by the multiple layers of fabric, so it was decided to don another outfit.  Here his is lounging with his Memory Book from last year’s preschool, a good little Irishman honoring the old before moving into the new.

Backpack still works:

And still in swinging condition:

While it might take a while to get the new routine down, JJ’s up for the challenge.

So is Abe, although what will he do with all that free time?

Somehow I think he’ll manage.

We managed to arrive ten minutes before the fifteen minutes of arrival time before school starts.  And we were dressed!  And fed!  And hydrated!  But oh, that’s right:  school supplies - even though I stocked up and even bought doubles of most supplies, I left them all nicely packaged in our hall closet.  And so Dren starts off the year with a big black mark on her report card.

Things aren’t so dire, however.  I brought the school supplies when I picked up him, and when I pulled up, he was playing a game running around holding his friend J’s hand - tender!  JJ got a good report when I asked (and in fact she says she doesn’t “tattle” to the parents unless the kids do something *REALLY* naughty.  Hurrah:  I may leave preschool this year holding my head high rather than slinking away in shame for report after report of time out, cause man, my neck was getting achy from drooping so low), and JJ enjoyed “coloring and playing with A and J and D and O and J and D and K and doing red light with the bee!” (Red Light/Green Light with a puppet).   Both JJ and Abe are contained in their approrpriate Quiet Time Places, and I will be restocking the snack bags, water bottles, and getting the Kashi bar out of my hair (man, they’re sticky).

So we end sending well wishes to our beloved friend Ryan who cracked his head open today (who is in Beloved Teacher L’s morning class) which happens to be his birthday:  boo.  My brother did the same thing when he turned two (cracked head on his b-day, not going to school for the first time), and he turned out okay, don’t you think?

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings | 4 Comments »

I think Abe is psychic.  Or at least he knows when change is lurking in the air, that there’s a tremor in the force, that the tide is turning - not in his favor.  Except he can use this uncanny ability for his good, which is usually not for the good of the mama.

Case in point:  Abe loves his pacifier.  JJ enjoyed his, but Abe *loves* the plastic oral fixation stopper upper.  Most of the time he looks like this:

Because otherwise he looks like this:

Yes, that’s an old picture, but we’ve had to refrain from posting such images due to complaints from the peanut gallery (aka. the Gran who says, “it just breaks my heart!” although if the images came with audio like those lovely cards at Hallmark, she might find the amusement behind the yowls).

One time, around his birthday, I thought:  it’s time for the pacifier to go.  He promptly got the stomach flu.  And you can’t take one’s security piece of plastic away from one when one is yarfing, can one?

Another time I thought, “Yes, we’ll swap it out now.”  He popped about four teeth in three days.  And yet again, “May the plastic be gone!”  Spewing stomach virus from hell, followed by an outbreak of hives (apparently one has inherited granddaddy’s love of baths, the outdoors, and tendency towards melon allergies as well).

I can’t imagine it will be much of an issue, the pacifier detox.  The child doesn’t seem to have any documented tendencies towards oral fixations.

Nope, none at all.

Unlike his mama (and his mama’s family:  I’m not being mean, I’m just stating facts.  With my mouth that one of my friends in high school commented, “Dren, I can see all of your teeth!”  Not scarring at all.  :D), Abe has a teeny tiny little button of a mouth.  Isn’t it sweet?

And yet I’m thinking he may be ready for the next season of America’s Got Talent with his freakish ability to shove unusually large or cumbersome objects into small yet quite stretchy places.  For instance, one would think that this large red object would not fit into such a delicate, petite mouth.

One would be wrong.

And it doesn’t encumber from other important work.

Another one on hand for backup (never know when the photog snaps into mama mode and swipes away the goodness).

Wondering:  if one is good, what would two at once be like?

He’s not discriminating:  paper’s just as good as painted wood (and a little more ecofriendly).

[Photo credit:  JJ]

Round things, papery things, long things, it’s all good.  He’s like a connoisseur.

[Photo Credit:  JJ.]

Don’t be distracted by the grin and the dimples, although they are awfully distracting.  He’s already been deemed “Future Trouble Maker” by old people at the store.  And cashiers.  And nursery workers.  And blog readers.

Oh, look!  How sweet!  Abe must be smiling cause he’s feeling the love.

Aw:  wait, for it . . . . wait for it . . . .

[Yes, I know that is a choking hazard.  I, out of all people, am aware of how many choking hazards are in my house, my car, the library, the grocery store, and many, many other places.  If you have a complaint, feel free to file it with "The Department of People who Have Time To Care, ATTN:  Gran"]

So someday soon Operation:  Ridding of the Pacifier will begin.  His brother will be right there to encourage him along in his detox with tools of love and support.

Someday this is what we will look like.  A little cooky, but plastic free.  I mean, his brother’s pacifier free, right?

After that, we’ll work on the closing of the mouth (one thing at a time, eh?).

Although that may take longer than anticipated as well . . .

Note:  I said JJ was pacifier-free; I did not say anything beyond that.

I have great hopes; yes, I do.

Hope springs eternal.

Daily Drivel | 5 Comments »

I was supposed to be doing something else, but I forgot what it was, and the computer has such a pretty shiny monitor that I find myself blogging.  So pretty and shiny.

September.  Almost here.  Like that visit from friends or relatives that you knew was in the distant future, but you didn’t have to think about because it was so far off, and yet now it’s midnight and you find yourself at WinCo at midnight buying a toilet scrub brush because you don’t own one, and while you and your roommate don’t mind the ever-growing brown ring around the toilet because it kinda matches the decor of the bathroom, your visitor might turn the CDC on you.

I.E.  I’m not ready.

What’s really killing me is getting organized.  Correction:  organizing how I will get organized.  Yes, that’s dumb.  Or rather “complicated” if you’re supposed to be fasting from negative words (which I’ll get around to, one of these days, Dr. Nedley).  What’s the best way to try and manage my day-to-day stuff?  What about stuff for the long term, like budget and life goals?  How can I anticipate things that keep coming up every year, and every year I think, “Stink!  I forgot about that!  Next year I’ll do *so* much better about remembering.”  Heh heh:  notsomuch.

I have notebooks scattered around the house:  some blank, some planners, some for food, some for grocery lists, some for random lists.  I have Google Calendar and Remember the Milk profiles.  My feed reader sends me all sorts of stuff from Organizing Junkie and Zen Habits and Lifehacker.  I know Flylady says I need to let go of my perfectionism, but how can I do that when she has an entire home management binder I should fill out but get overwhelmed at the thought and also recognize I could do it if I didn’t have children and house stuff and life stuff to organize, but then I wouldn’t need to organize anything at that point?

So, what helps you get things done?  How do you manage not to look like a deer (well, in these parts, it’d be more accurate to say possum, but then that brings back some bad memories - woot NHS class of 93!) in the headlights?

Random Remarks | 2 Comments »

Thank you for the well wishes and words of affirmation!  I would’ve responded sooner, but, well, we got hit.  “Piper down!  I repeat, a piper is down!”

Right after JJ finally perked up (and his lips turned back to red - it’s scary when they blend in with the face), the Mama and Little A went down.  And oh, did we go down.  Saturday I organized the garage to keep the nausea at bay.  Yes, that’s an odd method, I’m sure, and probably not prescribed by doctors, but if they only knew the peace that weeding through the mountains of small people clothes and camping gear and bulk foods and random (yet incredibly abundant) plastic Home Depot sacks can bring a BO (born organizer), they would probably prescribe less Zanax and rather send us to Old Navy after a weekend sale (shivers down my spine).

Little A, however, did not have such a happy place as the non-functional garage to retreat to.  He took a three hour nap on Saturday morning and then did not slumber again.  Until 10pm.  10 hours.  Awake.  FAR too long.  Especially when he made an “ENH ENH ENH!!!” noise.  For.all.of.it.  Except when he would come close to a water source, where he would increase the level and frequency of the “ENH!!!”s to indicate that he would like water.  Rather, he demanded water like he was a street junkie.  So we’d give it to him (actually, it was a homemade Pedialyte solution) which he would toss back with the cup straight in the air, and then promptly projectile vomit.  Over.  And over.  And over.  It was a delightful weekend.

Sunday morning I could no longer organize.  I couldn’t do laundry (oh, the laundry).  I couldn’t even gather things to put in recycling or even shower.  I can hear the audio tape my folks gave me as a tyke of “Alice in Wonderland”:  “Down, down, down she fell.  Would the fall ever come to an end?”  After little to no sleep, with a Hubby getting ready for a major major major project happening at work the next day and then a business trip later in the week, and Little A still acting like a crack baby, I decided to call in the troops:  “Mama? . . . ”

Fortunately, the Gran already had plans to be in the ‘berg this week seeing as how the Granddaddy is off in the woods with his best childhood bud getting all stinky and unshaven-y and Deet-y.  She figured she could call me every day, or she could come to town and hang out with us.  And, wonderful Gran that she is, she of course agreed to coming down a day early and relieving the Hubby of us fluid-challenged folks so he could gain some semblance of normality so as to reenter the land of the Able-to-Digest.  Blessed, I am so very blessed with help (and comments on my Facebook statuses, my one connection outside of the quarentine zone).

Hubby, of course, got sick on Tuesday.  But we’re not certain it was the Stomach Virus from the Pit or just some expired milk.  And the Gran felt ill, but that could’ve been some overly ripe cantelope.  You just never know . . . Of course, I jumped the gun with food for the Little Man and I too quickly, so it’s only been 24+ hours since the last yarfing, but hey:  that’s a step in the right direction.

It’s so easy to take a simple thing like digestion and retention for granted.  I can get so frustrated when my kids are so active, but seeing JJ wiped out on the couch or Little A like a possessed person makes me so thankful for when they’re not borderline Urgent Care visit.  There are many improvements I think God can make in humans 2.0 (removable body parts - seriously, how much would I *love* to take my ears off between 4 and 5pm every day?  Stinkin’ arsenic hour), but the ability for the brain not to recognize just how much stuff sucks until getting through the other side (i.e. hindsight), that I really dig.  And belly buttons:  they’re just so much fun to poke.

Daily Drivel | 1 Comment »

So my sweet friend, probably the only person who checks here minus grandparents who are contractually obligated, mentioned that she missed reading my blog.  What?  Someone misses new posts on this site?!!  Say no more!  Like a puppy who hears the words “go byebye”, that’s all I need to get me writing again.

Though I know a ton of witty stories have happened in the past few days . . . weeks . . months (quickly wiping the dust off with my shirt sleeve, hoping no one noticed), I can’t really think of any right now.  Because my bebe is sick.  JJ has been out with the stomach flu since Monday.   Today is Thursday.  That’s a looong time to be sipping water, and hurling, and licking a popsicle, and hurling, and biting a banana, and hurling.  So long that I didn’t even realize it was Thursday and that he’s been sick almost all week:  the gloriousness of the days just run together.

Hubby asked if I was going to call the doctor this morning, and mentally I thought, “Why?  So I can haul him down to a doctor’s office for all of us to get infected and have them tell me there’s nothing they can do, and by the by, the new germies we picked up in the waiting room are free”, but I said, “Uh, no, I don’t know what they could do.”  But then when the offer to have a popsicle for breakfast was refused, I picked up the cell right then and there.

“May I speak to a nurse?”

“Is this in regards to you?”

“Nope:  my son’s been throwing up since Monday.”

“Monday?!!”

“Well, Monday night.”

“We’d better get you an appointment!”

“Uh, I’d rather just talk to a nurse if that’s okay.”

“Oh . . . well, I guess I can send a note back.”

“It’s just that I’m not sure if I should bring him in or not and figured a nurse could tell me.”

“Yeah . . . ”

Just then and there, I was bequeathed the “La Crappola Madre of the Year” award.  No, I haven’t posted it up in my house yet:  I’m just revelling in its beauty.

Right now JJ’s hanging out in bed.  Awake.  My son.  Awake.  Lying there.  Not tied down.  Not threatened that if his toes so much as touch the ground that he will never get to play LegoTableStarWarsGames again.  My son has *never* done that willingly.  Yep, things are not looking so great.  The nurse, who talked to the not-Beloved-Dr.-Tami-doctor, who almost delivered JJ, since our Beloved Dr. Tami takes Thursdays off to polish her Rockin’ Mama of the Year award, said that I’m supposed to give him Pedialyte (which he won’t drink because he doesn’t like juice.  That’s my low-carb kid!) and then go on the B.R.A.T. diet (tasty) and then slowly reintroduce dairy.  So much for his request for “yogret” this morning (thank you Springfield Dairy which sponsors Sesame Street).

I just want my baby to keep some liquids down.  It’s a simple request, one that I often take for granted.  That, and to magically uninherit my & my father’s hurling genes - we’re olympic-worthy hurlers.  It’s just horrible seeing veins pop out of your baby’s neck as he grips on the toilet so his feet don’t come off the floor, cause I know what he’s feeling (and so does Granddaddy - ugh - the bulging eyeballs).

So, Michelle, that’s probably not what you wanted to read during your lunch hour.  But at least you’re getting a lunch hour!  And hopefully we’ll have some non-fluid-oriented stories to share soon.  Won’t that be lovely.

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings | 4 Comments »

I’ve lived in the Newberg area on and off for fifteen years now (oy).  And yet, I’ve never participated in the epic event all local folks look forward to:  The Newberg Old Fashioned Festival.  Perhaps it’s because I’ve always come off of my denomination’s annual gathering the week before; perhaps it’s because the Festival pales in comparison to my experience at the Boise River Festival (may it rest in peace long enough to be resurrected if/when I ever get to move back to God’s country, er, I mean, Idaho); perhaps it’s because I’m in denial that I live in Newberg:  A Great Place to Grow (pot, if you went to the high school.  Shh:  don’t tell - it will worry my mom, even though we’ve been graduated for a while). The Festival involves things like booths in a park, eating in a park, a parade, and fireworks.  Because it’s not a festival unless stuff gets blown up for no reason.  I can’t imagine why I’ve missed out on all the quality frivolity.

However, I have now dipped my toe in the realm of One of Lives in Newberg, and I drug my family along with me.  Some wonderful friends who live on the parade route invited us over to their lovely abode for some brunch munchies, fellowship, and flying candy.  Because, see, that’s what the parade is all about:  hard candy being chucked at little peoples’ heads, and then little people running out into the street to gather the legal crack between parade floats while sifting through the mixed messages of father’s shouting, “Go!  There!  You missed one!” and mother’s hollering louder, “Careful!  Come back!  Don’t get run over!” as the sweet nectar of the gods buzzes through their veins and they bounce off each other like sticky pinballs.

Yeah, it was fun.

Of course, JJ was a top candy getter (would you expect anything less?).  The moment he heard a plastic wrapper meet the pavement, he was off in a flash.  Much to the dismay of other lesser-aware, non-sugar-sensitive children.  I “encouraged” JJ to share the candy with the other kids, knowing full well that his stash was just going to end up at his dad’s office anyway.  And soon, he was running out into the street, hunting and gathering, and then distributing equally into other kids’ bags.  He even gave candy to grownups.  Aw!  That’s SO not a trait he inherited from my side of the family (hmm:  who has a stash of powerbars that she’s hiding from prying eyes?  Seriously:  my monkeys can’t get enough of those soy protein crisps.  And one wonders why my son is diving into the street to get a peppermint).

So yes:  we came.  We paraded.  We pillaged.  And we now have a half-full gallon ziploc bag on top of the fridge getting ready to be shipped to Hubby’s work.

It was a good day.

Entertaining Evidence | 1 Comment »

Yes, this blog is still functioning.  No, I have not forgotten about it.  I’ve created many a witty post in my noggin - things regarding:

• my bebe turning one and then turning thirteen months
• going camping/rafting with friends and managing to come home *not* having had to go to the hospital
• sharing what a travesty it is that Will was voted off of SYTYCD (America, for shame, for shame)
• in-laws coming to visit and going to the zoo
• in-ground sprinklers being installed
• water pipes breaking while out of town creating an unknown scary water bill and existing in the biggest tent ever (aka my waterless house)
• being up at the ‘rents for a week plus and having my every need catered to (including getting to work out every day on a machine, not working out by pushing 70+ pounds of bebes and double stroller up the Wine Country hills)
• having my bubba come visit with presents for everyone (including ds games for the mama which I can’t put down - ask the children:  they’re hungry)
• being married for five years (which we’ll celebrate . . . one of these days .. . maybe at around seven years, at the rate we deal with things)
• Etc., etc., etc.

But no:  what has motivated me to dust off the ol’ blogging keyborad (dusty like the rest of my house) is two-fold:

1)  The bucket’o'fuss (aka Abe) is sitting quietly playing with books at my feet and I dare not move lest the happy trance be broken and he remembers that the world is a cruel, harsh place (see above regarding SYTYCD - seriously, America:  that never would’ve happened in Canada).

2)  As I IMed my husband this morning:  BAKERY’S OPEN!!!  BAKERY’S OPEN!!! BAKERY’S OPEN!!!

We live in a little town, a blip on the way from one suburb to another.  But in this teeny town, there are a few good things:  BBQ, Chinese food, and a bakery.  Except the bakery closed.  Which was a cruel, cruel thing to have happen to a post-partum mama who enjoyed supporting local business and local carbs.  And her bebes enjoyed supporting local carbs (they’ll get on the local business part someday soon).

One day it was just not open:  the open sign was gone.  I kept looking.  Another day the hours sign was taken down, and I think perhaps a “closed indefiniately” sign was in its place.  That was a bad, bad day.

But the business never changed.  The tables stayed in place; the businesss sign was still up.  So everytime I went to the next suburb, I looked, I grieved, and I drove on.  Today was no different:  looking, grieving, driving.  After hitting all my typical Friday-shopping-cheap stores, I thought, “Hmm, we need some treats.  Oooh, Great Harvest Bread Co. hands out free bread:  mmmm.”  So we went.  We ate.  And we purchased;  Honey Whole Wheat (right out of the oven) and Wheat Cinnamon Chip (for breakfast parade munchies:  it’s good to know folks who live on a parade route).

Driving home.  Happy all is well.  One boy eating still, one boy sleeping.  Looking.  Getting ready to grieve.  But wait:  there’s an open sign.  Flipping head quickly:  new signage with hours!  And another open sign!

I kid you not:  I giggled all the way home.  Yes, pathetic.  But I *love* having a local bakery, one that I can walk to with the bebes, one that I can say, “Hey, yes, I can bring bread to your function:  bread from *my* bakery.”  Could I learn to bake bread?  Sure:  but it’s so much more fun to go get bread and have the bakers say, “Can we give you kiddos cookies?” and pass out a peanut butter cookie the size of your head.  Peanut butter - because it has protein. 

Well, the clicking of the keys alerted the yowler that I had something I desired to do more than revel in his “Now that I’m one and your return policy has expired, I can throw tantrums because you can’t send me back.  Nee-ner-nee-ner”, I’d best publish.

I may be back.  If I can find something *someone* enjoys more than being Irish.  Or if I keep the loaf of whole wheat bread next to my desk and shove a little larger than bite sized pieces into *someone’s* mouth.

Yay, my bakery. 

Daily Drivel, Random Remarks | 2 Comments »

I don’t craft.

This is a statement I make often in my mama-circles.  See, I hang out with this insanely creative people:  people who herb garden and texturize walls and bake  whole-grain fresh-sprouted bread and have houses that have matching walls & furniture and sew teeny tiny doll dresses and make caterpillar blankets - and that’s just my own Mama.  I remember as a child loving Vacation Bible School but getting a knot in my stomach when the dreaded Craft Time approached.  True, we were only working with glue and popsicle sticks, but still:  oh the pressure of having the idealistic picture in my head and then looking at the realistic glob of soggy wood.

I can be crafty in my own way.  I’ve been known to make a mean mix tape (oh tapes, how I miss thee).  As a barista I had a nice system of helping folks discern what drink they *neeeeeeeded*.  And I worked on the yearbook and newspaper staff.  I was even the editor and designed a majority of layouts - pictures, words, titles, all sorts of good stuff.  One of the best parts about Yearbook was the camera - the Canon Rebel that I got to abscound with on the merest whim and the free film I could swipe and then drop off for “free” development at the Photo Company.

Alas, I have no more “free” development, so pictures stay on the Hubby’s harddrive.  And the closest I get to the Rebel is flipping through the Target ads, sighing, and then moving on to see the diaper deals of the week (score!).  We have a nice little digital camera, but again with the idealistic/realistic frustration.  I line up pictures that are gorgeous on the screen, but then the flash makes everything washed out, or if it doesn’t flash, then it’s all a big blur.  Or the best, when the button doesn’t depress or the focus won’t latch on, and then the great shot’s gone in a blink of an eye (or lack of click of the camera).

At least I’m not my mom who had to watch my father with his manual camera - no auto focus - lots of clicks and rotations and more adjustments, and then I was off in a flash.

The other day it was going to be hot.  Which meant that the boys would need to be in the house for the majority of the day.  Which meant that we’d all be climbing the walls.  So, first thing in the morning, I took them out in the backyard to work out some energy.  And you know what?  The lighting’s pretty decent out there that early!  So I finally have a few shots that the color seems bright, the lines are crisp, and the moment seems well captured.  And I have a little more desire that I might be able to craft on, unless someone has a boom box and some audio tapes they want to send my way. . .

Crafty Comments, Daily Drivel | 1 Comment »