Graduating

I am still sick. I am going to do what the sick do when the sick blog. The sick do photo montages. Because the sick are lazy. Say it with me - LAAAY-ZEEEE. My brain's not working right, so funny's taking a nap. I'm on photo autopilot.

Last night my Little Guy graduated from Webelos I to Webelos II. Next January he will graduate to Boy Scouts. Rather than bore you with pictures of the ceremony (mostly because I used the wrong ISO setting and the pictures are all grainy and fuzzy), I choose to delight (that's rather a strong use of the word in this context - just go with it) you with faces at the cake and punch reception following the ceremony. The faces are familiar at this point. The angles - I told you I'm sick, right?

But first, my Little Guy in his uniform, all handsome and proud. And remembering to stand like a man instead of a slouch.


Isn't he handsome? He's worked so hard all year to earn badges and pins and was proud of himself. He's a good kid.



An okay kid. Whichever you prefer.



Here's the man who was giving him weird finger ears. Say hello to my Hunny. I kinda like his old man glasses. People used to call him Al Borland from Tool Time. Now he gets into the whole professor look.

And Maybelline, as we're leaving the house, asks Little Guy, "So do any of your little scout friends have big brothers?" Rein it in there, girl. Soon I'll be padlocking her doors and windows.


Check out Oatmeal Head, recently having discovered the opposite gender himself. And I thought Maybelline had it bad. If one more giggly girl calls my house looking for him at ten o'clock at night ... so help me ...



Not to be outdone for weird angles, Little Guy completes our set. Collect them all!


I can't leave you without my favorite photo of the evening. Okay, second favorite. The one of the Hunny is my favorite. And I'm trying to figure out Photoshop well enough to get rid of the minivan and other background junk.

To all of you out there who have caught my cold, I'm truly sorry. Get better. To the four or five year old who gave it to me, there's a bench with your name on it, kid, and I'll be right behind ya, pushing.

Until I write again ...

Flea

A New Friend

This just in! Fred and Bessie are leaving upstate New York and the ever hospitable home of Dlyn, headed to Connecticut! Check out their' departure!

*achoo*
Excuse me while I mouth-breathe for a bit.

Since I'm still sick, and still scanning pictures (thanks for the heads up, Mom. Two years - really?), I'm simply going to introduce you all to our new family friend, Pete. Bloggy internets, say hello to Pete.


Isn't he handsome? And you single ladies, he's available. He also gets along well with kids, you single moms.


Oop! But he doesn't like to share his chips. Here's a better example of his tolerance for children

See? Little Guy is torturing him and he handles it beautifully.


See how chummy they are? They even have the same smile. I love Pirate Pete.

A big thank you to Grandma, who so kindly provided today's entertainment. She works for Frito and brought Pete home for us. Little Guy finished blowing him up this morning at breakfast then left him by the front door. I wish I'd had the camera ready when the Hunny came in from his morning walk and jumped two feet. And again when he came home for lunch and jumped. But especially when Maybelline came in from school and started screaming at him. Dang. That's what I get for being sick. Not prepared.

Y'all, thanks for your well wishes. I'm feeling better today. It should be reduced to a mere sniffle tomorrow.

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Case of the Missing Eyebrows

So last Monday night, the Hunny and I spent time with friends. At their house. And we were not home. In fact, we didn't get home until after Little Guy's bedtime and he was in bed. Oddly. The next morning I was having a tough time waking up, so I didn't really notice Little Guy's eyebrows. In fact, it wasn't until Tuesday afternoon, when he was badgering Oatmeal Head that I heard Oatmeal Head yell (for my benefit, I'm sure), "Oh my gosh! What did you do to your eyebrows?"

Of course I call Little Guy downstairs to see what madness has occurred. At first glance I thought he'd gotten into my waxing box, which I'd left on the counter as a reminder to do my own eyebrows, and I had to take Maybelline to guitar, so I left fuming just a tad. And I left Little Guy denying that he'd done anything. Like maybe rats gnawed them off in the middle of the night.

Evening comes, I'm home giving him the third degree, getting angry tears of denial and harsh statements questioning my love for him since I don't believe him. I just sent him to his room till dinner, refusing to be drawn in to his arguments of how it couldn't have been him who sheared his eyebrows off. Lou. That's what it was. Lou scratched the eyebrows off while they were playing. Stupid cat. Uh huh.

So the Hunny comes home, trying his best not to laugh, while I'm still steaming a little, and questions him. It turns out that our bored son snipped away with scissors the night before because he was bored. Talk about a role reversal - the Hunny thinks it's amusing (he was always the one to be incensed) and reminds me that the other two went through similar things when they hit the puberty wall. He argued against punishment, stating that Little Guy having to live with badly trimmed eyebrows was punishment enough.

Never one to humiliate my children *cough* I penciled in Little Guy's eyebrows for the rest of the week before he left for school. Yes. Yes I did. And I know that you didn't read all the way through this just for the story. Unfortunately, I didn't get a good picture of him without the penciled in brows before yesterday and it turns out his hair grows quickly. Here's what I have:


I know. It's nothing like it was on Tuesday. Sorry. The arches (he has the most wonderfully arched brows!) are what took the brunt of the cutting. And he didn't want penciling this morning, since it really is growing back in. That or the guys at school gave him a hard time about wearing makeup.

Until I write again ...

Flea

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Boy howdy did WE ever have our share of excitement last night! See this?

This is a weather radio. Specifically, this is OUR weather radio. Yes, it's a fuzzy weather radio. And it doesn't do a darn bit of good if it's not plugged in.

We had several lines of severe weather come our way yesterday, with the worst sweeping through last night right after 7PM. In fact, my mom called about 6:40 to let me know it was coming, since she knows I don't watch TV. Thank you, Mom! I was keeping an eye on the internet radar, but it's not the same as TV, since I had no idea how bad it was.

Just after seven, and just after the Hunny got home, it all hit. I have to tell y'all, the Hunny is the cutest thing when it comes to emergencies. He ran upstairs to the TV to see the radar, Oatmeal Head turned on the computer to track the radar, I said, to no one in particular, "Where's our weather radio?" It magically appeared. And then the tornado sirens went off.

Well that was when the Hunny kicked into emergency mode. Meaning he paced and panicked in the most adorable way. The kids and I cleared out the closet under the stairs - here it is all put back together (no, people, I'm not posting from a Starbucks somewhere, even thought that WOULD be pretty cool):


We cleared it all out and Little Guy hung out there with the dogs for awhile, talking to one of his friends on my cell phone (yes! it came! I'll show you in a minute), while the Hunny stood at the door listening to the sirens and shushing the rest of us. The sirens would stop and the Hunny would make to go upstairs. I'd call his butt right back down.

All of this was a truncated version of Hurricane Charlie, when we lived in Florida. It was the Hunny's first hurricane and he was about to burst. He'd get all nervous and worked up, then in the worst of it he was dragging the kids outside to watch the transformers blow around town while I'm yelling at him to get them back in. I gave up after awhile. I've since learned to give up much sooner.

The sirens wailed off and on for a good half hour, making us a little nervous at first. Then we were bored. The poor dogs were wild eyed the entire time. I sent Maybelline for the camera so I could photograph the insane wind and rain (and the terrified dogs in the closet), but the Hunny wouldn't let me and take pictures. For Pete's sake, I didn't hear any freight trains! We survived. There was a moment when I think the Hunny and I were both wishing the wind would rip off all the siding so the insurance company would take care of it. Alas. It was not to be. And the kids have long ago learned to be calm in an emergency situation. The most excitement that happens with them is Little Guy worrying about his cat. Otherwise it's all good.

Okay, so this new phone of mine? SLEEK MOTO F-3? LOVE IT!!! Check it out:


I know - it's kinda fuzzy too. But isn't it pretty? The Hunny, who loves his games and features, took one look and had phone lust. I suspect he'd be bored with it inside of two minutes, but it is pretty and sleek - almost nothing to it. And I found an online manual for it in English (the one I received was in Spanish - no habla Espanol).

The screen is way cool! I can read it no matter the angle or lighting. I can text if I want to, but since that costs money, it ain't happenin'. The ring tones are SO MUCH FUN!!! I squishy heart the ring tones - all seven of them. And the menu is very small. BUT! I can set alarms on it if I need to. Yay! So it has everything I need, nothing more, nothing less. And it was 30 bucks plus shipping. How awesome is that? Awesome!

I'll be on a field trip with fourth graders today, visiting Woolaroc. Loving it! It's where the buffalo roam. And I'll probably wave in Mayberry's general direction in passing. Hello Magpie! And wave in the Pioneer Woman's general direction in passing. Hello Ree! And I'll take scads of pictures just to torture you all with! You knew I'd do that, though. The camera's already in the car.

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Water Story

Thank you for your patience! It wasn't till I posted the last that I realized that this isn't a terribly amusing story. And I like amusing. Dang it. But I'll tell it anyway.

Most of you know about our siding issues. We've been getting quotes, going back and forth on types of siding, blah, blah, blah. So we're pretty focused on that, not to mention a little stressed about the financial end of it. Woohoo. Meaning we missed a more immediate repair which was right under our nose. The upstairs shower faucet.

Months ago the kidlets began complaining about their shower, that it dripped, that the handle broke (the Hunny replaced the handle), that it was annoying. Yeah, whatever. I wasn't using it. Handle replaced. They stopped complaining. Then last week we heard yelling during a shower. It seemed the water suddenly went hot and stayed there. The next child to attempt using it found that the water would only turn as far as hot, never reaching the cooler stage. And the whole dripping thing? When we asked why we hadn't heard it, Maybelline tells us how smart they are. They just tucked the shower curtain under the drip after showering "so it wouldn't annoy you guys." Okay, who taught my daughter to say you guys instead of y'all? Something is seriously WRONG with that.

All three kidlets used our shower for the rest of the week. Yuck. Children shedding in my shower, using my towels when asked not to, using my shower gel and scrubbee when asked to bring their own down, not squeegeeing the water which pools in the corners. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. We had enough.

I called a plumber, he quoted me a VERY reasonable price of $225-250 to do the job if we bought our own faucet, even knowing he'd be opening up Oatmeal Head's wall to replace the faucet completely, and that the pipes are copper. I was pretty darn psyched. Then the Hunny asked where the money would come from. Stupid Hunny. Squash my excitement and ruin my hopes of ever having my shower and stuff to myself. I had no idea. We have a paintball party to throw this weekend, a climbing party next weekend, not to mention gifts.

So the Hunny asked - nay, pleaded - to be allowed to fix it himself. I had rules. He MUST look everything up on line, including how-to videos. He MUST price everything out completely before I'd say yes, and the cost had to be half of the plumber's price. He MUST promise to have it done in one evening. He promised all of those. And he came through on the the first two.

First, I must tell y'all about my own weekend to this point. I took my last Adderall XR on Friday morning, dropped off my prescription, then didn't get my lazy butt to the pharmacy to pick it up. Saturday without it was fine - I had a large coffee a couple of times that day, climbed, did yard work, enjoyed life. Sunday? Not so much. I wanted to sleep all day, forgot Little Guy had a birthday party to attend (he was very late, and I ran out to get the gift after dropping him off), was horribly grouchy and angry with everyone. The Hunny and I had a final class to attend last night and he wanted to play plumber and let me go alone. I hate going alone. I spent too many years going to things alone when the Hunny was grouchy and horrid, and I refuse to do so now that he's a better man. But his arguments were strong, and the money angle was a good hook, so I said yes and left at 5:45. Without my phone (hello? It's dead).

I came home to a very discouraged Hunny, children who were a little put out that the water was off and they were going to die of thirst, but secretly pleased that they didn't have to shower. It seems that the Hunny had found a wonderful system for cutting and fixing the pipes, but only one major hardware store carries it. The store which closed at seven. About 15 minutes before he realized that he needed ONE MORE PIECE to complete the job. The same store which didn't open until seven this morning, even though their phone system said they'd open at six. The Hunny was not happy, I was really ticked. *sigh*

Guess what? When the water's off, the toilets don't flush. Oatmeal Head (he's not named that for nothing) had to go after the water was shut off, so he flushed both toilets to make sure they'd work. So what does the Good Flea get to do upon her arrival home? I called a neighbor and good friend and asked if we could sneak into her yard in the dead of night and use her hose to fill buckets so we could go potty! Oh yes, that was an enjoyable conversation. About as much fun as actually going for the water.

So I was not a happy camper when I arrived home. I was sweet to the children (I think), and not horribly mean to the Hunny. I even sat in the doorway while he made sure the faucet was going to fit, talking to him. But I was certainly snarly once the kidlets were in bed.

So today? The Hunny came home at 6:15 sporting a QT coffee (didn't bring me one and I still hadn't had my Adderall, so GRR), frustrated with the store not being open. But he went back at seven and had the whole thing fixed, water on, by nine. Hoorah! We have water. And a working shower, complete with new faucet, knob and shower head. See?



Grouchy as I was, I must say that I am very proud of my Hunny. He da man. He was a graphic designer for years, working as a professor and department chair for a long time now. Not really into home repair and improvement. But the man learns well. And he did a great job. And I got a shower. The End.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Day in Review

I. Am so. Disappointed. Here I was looking forward to several days worth of bruise photos (I just know all of you were looking forward to it too), but look what my very promising boo-boo has done to me. Traitor.


I know, right? If you want a wound to color up nicely, don't ice it. I iced the heck out of it yesterday (it might have had something to do with wanting to ease the pain), and all I get for my trouble is a little boo-boo. No brilliant explosion of color.

Don't get me wrong - I worked hard today to make sure I'd have gorgeous colors to show you all. My friend, Kathie, a nurse, assured me that another good bang on the shin and some aspirin would ensure nice coloration. While climbing this morning I banged the snot out of it (granted, I stopped climbing after that, and alright, it wasn't exactly intentional), then I came home and took aspirin. It just wasn't enough. Stupid ice. Closed up all those little blood vessels.

The good news is, it doesn't cause excruciating pain today like it did yesterday. The OTHER good news is that Maybelline has overcome her fear of climbing! It took her four weeks to get to the top of the 24 foot beginner wall. Today though she kept tackling the harder wall. I took scads of photos, but I'll only torture you with one (I figure I've already tortured you more than enough):


See how high she got? I'm so proud of her! She rocks! In fact, she's requested a climbing party for her birthday, as well as a pair of climbing shoes. She's so easy.

While climbing we met Harley and Sally Ann. Guess which is which.


If you guessed that Sally Ann is the Great Dane, you're correct! Harley is the drop kick dog. Poor thing. He's really very sweet. He can't help being a drop kick dog. These two raced all over the gym, playing like little children. Considering that Sally Ann is eight and a half, old age for a Dane, I was impressed. Sally Ann walks with Flash and Patches every Thursday. Speaking of which, two things. First, I need to bring my camera on our walks. The mornings are gorgeous and I've seen some birds that I'd never seen in real life before. But I'm having a tough time visualizing walking two sixty pound dogs and taking pictures with my Canon EOS Digital Rebel 300D at the same time.

Second, I snapped a shot of my Babies doing some of their own tussling today. Vicious things.

Aren't they cute when they're about to kill each other?

Last, but not least, Oatmeal Head made a hole for where I'm told my Mother's Day gift will go. He worked hard, I snapped photos, we both sucked on pop ice (I love those things!), and I finally got tired of watching him work so hard and went inside. Heh. Trust me, there's a hole there. If you're wondering, this was one of those little Japanese maples. They're gorgeous trees, but this one was gasping for breath when we bought the house and didn't survive the last year. Poor thing.


The dead maple.


Oatmeal Head and a dead pop ice.


Wait! Just one more! Aren't those lashes just to die for? Boys. They get all the good lashes.

So there's my day in review. Aren't you glad you popped by on a Saturday? Me TOO! Stop in again some time!

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Wall

Stink. The Hunny took the camera on the camping trip. I'm about 4/5 done with the portion of wall I'm going to spackle, which is only about two-thirds of the whole wall. The bottom portion of the wall will be covered in bead board. No, I don't have that yet. But I am covering the pencil drawings which are all over the upper wall. Sadly, I'm also going to be covering part of my pretty flower.


Mayberry Magpie asked about the drawings on the wall, so I'll give you the back story. It's not very interesting, so no whining when you get to the end. Got it?

Last spring, when we'd only been in Tulsa about four or five months, I had a really bad day. No, this was not the only bad day I had last spring, and I don't even remember what happened, but it must have been PRETTY DARN BAD. because I got out my acrylics and painted a flower on my dining room wall. The wall which had been staring at me for months, unprimed, torn and partially papered, ugly as sin, mocking me and my empty pockets and brain. That wall. You can see the unprimed parts below the flower. Ew.

I declared this the official Bad Day Wall. First, the Hunny's critique of the flower. He liked it, which is nice, but he thought maybe I was having a bad day when I painted it, since I'd left all the petals open on the ends, leaking out something, maybe parts of me. Something unresolved perhaps. I took away his Junior Psychologist kit and declared it the Bad Day Wall.

The kidlets immediately loved the wall, not reserving it for bad days. Well, Maybelline turned to it for bad days, drawing cats and wolves and flying hearts. Fortunately there are no names of teenage boys on the wall. Even the cousins got into the act, drawing themselves and their dog sized hamsters.

I finally decided to texture the wall while the boys were all out of town. No, I didn't tell the Hunny I'd be doing this. The spackle has been out for a week. He didn't ask. He'll notice though - he's good that way. He'll wig out a little (not much), immediately decide he doesn't like it, ask when I'm going to finish it. Hopefully I'll have it primed before he gets home, so we can go pick out a nice shade of purple for the dining room. There is NO PURPLE in my house! It's a travesty is what it is! And he's already made it very clear that the wall will NOT be purple. Care to wager?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Mail Box Fun

Oh lookit lookit lookit! A box came for me today! A box full of candy, a book and a CD! I popped the CD in while digging through the packing peanuts for loot. Mellow. Jazzy. Bluesy. Love it. It ripped to my laptop and went to Maybelline, who instantly fell in love with Katie Melua. I love blues. Nothing like Kim Hill, but very good. Yes, I'm old.

I won all of this fun loot from I'm Being Held Hostage over at In the Gutter. Thank you!!!

And the candy! Bwahahaha!!! Little Guy's looking at all of it asking, "Didn't this come from another country?"

Me:"Yes. England."

Him: "Then why is it all in English instead of a foreign language?"

Oh I know who their teacher was the last nine years and I'm going to have a word with HER!

We tried the candy. Yes, we sat and sampled all of it. Maybelline, Oatmeal Head, Little Guy and myself. Some of it is wonderful! Some weird. I didn't care much for the chocolate covered Turkish Delight, but then I've never been a fan. The Flying Saucers rock! They look and feel like communion wafers - those papery things some churches have - but there's a powdery innard, like a Pixie Stix. Mmmm! Maybelline offered to wear one for your viewing pleasure.

Oatmeal Head declared it a giant zit. Shiny.

The rest of the candy was fun. We chewed quite awhile on the caramel, which they call toffee. Heath Bars are my idea of toffee. But I love caramel, so I stashed the rest for later. And the gum! It's by Tesco, a Black Currant gum. An acquired taste. I think one of the children liked it, and I'm hoping the Hunny does. Interesting. :)

Oatmeal Head has already asked for the wrappers to take to school once the candy's gone.

The card is beautiful, a Martin Sexton watercolor of Norwich Cathedral. And the envelope almost made me cry. Look:

Can you see? It says Fred & Bessie's Mum. But I have no Fred & Bessie. I do hope you're keeping your eyes peeled for them. Though that imagery is a little gross. Sorry.


Again, I'm Being Held Hostage, thank you! You turned a rainy Thursday into the bright spot in our week!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Travel Pictures!

Thanks, Zobabe, for the check it out! If my sister weren't enjoying her 10th anniversary away somewhere north of me, I'm betting she'd be all over it. :) I know I will be when I get home.

For your viewing ... I hate to say pleasure here ... for your viewing, some pics of our travel time. Probably just like yours, but with different people. Am I right?



Here's Maybelline, fresh and ready to face her traveling day. Plugged in, ready to watch Jeff Dunham. Look him up. You'll laugh for days. Ventriloquist.



Oatmeal Head hates having his picture taken. Oh well. He's plugged in, but wound up sharing earbuds with his sister, enjoying Dunham. I love hearing the two of them belly laugh from the back seat.


Little Guy isn't fond of pictures either. Tough. For me. Here he after a brief potty break. Doesn't he LOOK relieved? I know - I can't tell either.


As long as I'm torturing you, here's the Hunny, driving. He didn't fall asleep once! We squishy heart the cpap machine! No sleep apnea problems here! Drive, Hunny, drive!


And Grandma, or k, as y'all know her in the comment section. She is a very stubborn woman and refused to sit in the front seat after the first leg of the trip. If she'll comply on the way home, I'll take a better picture.


Last, and certainly not least, are my sweet bovines. They seem to truly enjoy traveling. I know, I know. They're not wearing their seat belts. I'm a bad mommy. They were only out for a bit. Most of the time they were strapped in and sleeping sweetly. Cute little things.

Thanks for scrolling through all the boring pictures. Stop in next week for the final slide show! Kidding.

Until I write again ...

Flea

What Was I THINKING?!?

Here I am thinking I need more exercise - we all need more exercise, right? So what do I do? I email my daughter, Maybelline, and tell her that I'd like to learn how to do DDR (Dance Dance Revolution - don't worry - I'll get to that). She's all about DDR, quite good at it. It was hilarious to watch her in the beginning, so awkward, but she's kicking its butt and taking names. And I thought, being the magnificent and involved mother that I am *snort*, that I'd ask her to teach me how to play. See little Maybelline? That's when she was young and cute and had no real desire to kick her mommy's tushie.

I can hear some of you out in cyber space asking the question, "What the heck is DDR?" For the novice, it's an XBox game involving rhythm and songs I don't know. I found an Earth, Wind and Fire song and stuck with it. The rest of the songs? Who KNOWS what they are! Not me.

Believe it or not, klutz that I am, I have an excellent sense of rhythm. Yes I do. Which is why I'm downstairs typing instead of playing DDR, right? Here's the gist of the game: Pick a song, choose a level of difficulty (I am a Beginner), Start dancing. Simple enough? Okay, here's a shot of Maybelline playing:



See the colorful pad with the giant arrows? The screen has arrows scrolling up with the song's beat, and you are expected to step on the arrows on the pad as the screen arrows reach the top of the screen. Sometimes you have to jump on two arrows at once. Really! It's not as easy as it looks. I've stood in FYE at the mall for what felt like hours, watching teens play DDR and marveling. They're amazing, the speed at which they stomp on the arrows, following the screen. Now Maybelline is one of those amazing teens, playing at the difficult and expert levels.

So she reminded me this morning that I'd asked her to teach me how to play. Me, the girl who failed aerobics - TWICE - in college. Following arrows with my eyes AND my feet. Me, the girl who can't play video games to save her life. Me, who is about a million pounds overweight and breathes funny when I conquer the stairs. Me, who walked four miles with my husband yesterday, and whose legs are still very loose, thank you very much (yes, Poltzie, it must be genetic). Me, playing DDR, risking looking like a complete fool and breaking my tail bone, or worse. Me, going to the emergency room. Oh, no fun that.

But I took her up on it. Know what? She's a good teacher. I'm a lousy student. I hushed her at first and gave it a shot, jumping around to "September", nearly falling face first into the TV. She's trying to tell me how to better play, I'm not listening, she sits back and watches and encourages. Then she shows me how she does it. See, I won't learn from watching till I've at least tried it once. And learn I did! Once I loosened up a little. It's a lot of fun! I might actually lose a little weight by the end of the school year. I might not. Heh. Oh! And it's set up so one can monitor how many calories one burns with each song! WAY cool! I burned ... lessee .. about 15 whole calories. Yeah. Still fun.

Know what else? Maybelline has a competitive streak! I wonder where she got that from ... and she says that she'll be whooping my butt come end of summer, at her level. Bring it on.

Y'all don't forget to pop down to the interview and contest! Win a book! And I'll talk to y'all tomorrow! If I can still walk, that is.

Until I write again ...

Flea

What a Day!

It's Saturday, and you know what that means ... it's Climbing Day! Yay!!!

First, Maybelline couldn't make it today, and not because she's 14 going on 50, but because she had an all-day vocal competition at a high school across town. Y'all know she's a musician, an artist, but I probably didn't tell you that she signed up for the 8th grade vocal class this year at school. She LOVES it. Over the school year she's had several performances, including this last Tuesday night at her school, which was the preparation for today's competition.

Tuesday was the night parents (and friends - quite a few of our very sweet friends) came to listen to their darling 13 and 14 year old children sing. Listening to all those boys, voices cracking, and girls, most barely whispering their lyrics, gave me very little hope for today. And Tuesday night my Maybelline's solo - the ancient Welsh folk song, All Through the Night - was just a little better than the others, because she was obviously nervous. Alright, nearly all of them were about to wet their pants from nerves. The vocal teacher was encouraging Maybelline afterwards, letting her know that her performance was affected by her nervousness, but that it was also meant to prepare her for today. Whew!

Today I climbed while my daughter sang, but the Hunny went to hear her perform (he was teaching on Tuesday and missed all the fun). Hunny came home raving about daughter's singing, how clear and beautiful it was, how calm and poised she was, even with grass stains all over her khakis (seems she and her friends were rolling down hills at lunch). The judge, rather than critique, told her he was glad that he'd gotten to hear her sing. She won't know until Monday how she scored on her solo, but she knows that she scored well on one of her ensembles. Yay! So she came home totally stoked. :) The photo above is from Tuesday night's solo. Pre-grass stains.

While she was singing, I was playing. :) No, no gratuitous butt shots of the Good Flea today. We've had more than enough of those. BUT my mommy came! Oh. Wait. That's not my mom. Those stinkers are the ones who ate my bagel! Kathie brings bagels every Saturday, and I'd slathered this one up with sun dried tomato spread, then it disappeared while I got into my climbing gear. No one would confess to having eaten it, though. Those brats!

So back to my mom and climbing? She's wanted to go with me for several weeks, but she was pretty ill for awhile, then recovering. Even today she only got up the wall a couple of times before - hey! That's not my mom either! Look what they did while I was climbing! Don't they know how horribly unsafe it is to climb without gear and training? Don't they understand how fragile they are? What the heck? Stupid bovines. I swear, they're worse than children.

So MY MOM went with me today, along with a fun neighbor who I'm getting to know and enjoy better. We had a great time, and my mom got about half way up the wall on her first try, impressing us all very much. I regret that there is no picture of her climbing, as I was belaying her. She tried again and didn't get very far, I think because she's not quite recovered from being so sick and the adrenaline rush took everything out of her right off.

Mom seemed to enjoy belaying, which is what I spent most of my time doing the first week. It's not so scary, but it also doesn't use up all of your adrenaline. I like belaying because I feel strong and secure on the ground. :D

Okay, left to right this is my Mom, my new friend, Brandi, and my breakfast buddy, Kathie. Besides myself, there was only one of Kathie's friends who came along till about mid-morning. Small crowd. So we're all belaying each other, and I'm helping, in my own limited way after only a few weeks, to teach, but NOBODY'S WATCHING THE COWS. Stoopid stoopid stoopid. How on earth two little cows get into so much trouble is beyond me.

Remember I said we were a small group till mid-morning? Shelly came about then. She serves as sometimes photographer, which means she's not watching Fred and Bessie either. Till she spots them through the camera lens. Who KNOWS where this is? I have GOT to find them a harness and climbing shoes.

Then I find them lurking near Shelly while she chats with the gym's owner, waiting for who-knows-what opportunity. Problem is, the ledge on which they're standing? Drops waaaaay down into what was once a diving pool. One false move and bye bye little cows! And like the good mommy I am, I snap their photo before getting them out of harm's way.





Despite all my warnings, Fred and Bessie couldn't seem to keep themselves off the walls. I've never seen them this energetic, animated. It's wild! I may have to take them every weekend! Or not. I have no idea where to find the safety equipment in their size.

So, to sum up:
Maybelline sang like an angel (oh, and she had my cell phone for the day, so she was in Heaven)
My Mommy came climbing with me
My STUPID COWS won't listen to me or stay where they're put. Instead they've taken to stealing and extreme sports.

WHAT an exhausting day!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Family Lunacy

I've managed to capture a photo of the elusive poser, Oatmeal Head. Believe me when I tell you folks, this was no easy feat. I have many, many blurry shots, hat over the face, hand in motion toward the camera, and back of the head shots. It is so frustrating trying to photograph this teenage boy. But I got one!

His older sister, on the other hand, was very simple to capture. Promises of internet fame lured her easy smile, her twinkling eyes, and before I knew it, I had some wonderful shots of Maybelline in her natural habitat. The dining room. Isn't that a charming look?

Not to be outdone, she snatched the camera and took pictures of her mother. I begged, pleaded, cried, all to no avail. I was doomed to be captured on ... on ... a memory card. She got me.

The only one left to photograph, it seemed, was Little Guy. He was in rare form tonight, but I think I'll save him for another day. I fear the world can only take so much.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Maybe She's Born With It ...

Here we have my favorite picture of my daughter, Maybelline. Isn't she beautiful? I just love that look in her eyes. It's the whole, "What are you doing taking my picture? I'm an artist. Leave me in peace. Grrr." look.

I gotta tell, ya, I always wanted boys. I wanted six boys, in fact. Can I also tell you that I'm pretty sure I'm glad I only have two boys? But I didn't know what to do with myself when I had a girl. Girls are so ... girly. And Maybelline is no exception to that, though you can't tell from the picture. She was my party princess child, loving her fancy dresses and sparkly sunglasses. She talked her brothers into having Polish tea parties, where they'd all dress up in their Christmas or Easter clothes and have tea parties on blankets on the floor, raising their pinkies and talking in really bad British accents. My MIL is Polish, so, well, I have no idea why they were Polish tea parties.

When she was eight, I gave Maybelline a real tea party for her birthday. All the little girls showed up in fancy dresses, hats and white gloves. We used the good china and silver, had tiny éclairs and sugar cubes for the tea. Even grapes on a grape platter with silver scissors. She was in heaven.

When she was five I ordered the gosh awfullest ugly fabric online for a dress. It was a silver sheer fabric with giant fuschia and periwinkle abstract flowers all over it. The dress itself was fuschia satin and the sheer was an overlay. Puffy sleeves, full skirt, sparkly pink sunglasses and antique white gloves. She was in heaven.

When she was three she wore a pearl necklace I picked up at an antique shop in Jacksonville. It was the tiniest pearl necklace I'd ever seen and it fit her perfectly. I think she wore it for about a year, never taking it off, before it broke.

Fast forward to 14. She loves her guitar. That sparkly party girl is still in there. She's just fighting with it to find her identity. I LOVE that she's taken to the guitar like a duck to water, that she is looking for herself so hard, trying to figure out where she's separate from her brothers and parents. Mostly, it seems, where she's separate from me. And I read that that's totally normal and good for a teen girl. It's just weird. I don't know if it helps or hurts that she and I are so different in our personalities and interests. I suppose if we were a lot alike we'd be fighting all the time. But because we're so different, I don't always know how to talk to her. Or she to me. I think parenting is just hard any way you slice it.

But parenting is well worth any aggravation or difficulty. In fact, I find myself thinking that I can't afford to look at it as aggravating or difficult. I have to look at it as investing in something bigger than me. Something so worth my time that it's more of a joy to get down and dirty. Of course, I only look at it that way occasionally. Not when the schoolwork, jackets and shoes are all over the house AGAIN.

Until I write again ...

Flea