Bitten

Here's Jack and his friend Dylan, who spent the week with us while the boys attended sailing camp. Now, he doesn't want to go to Spain for his thirteenth birthday, he wants to build a boat.
He got the award at camp for "the kid they couldn't get out of the boat". It was a long, fun, exhausting week, and when it was all over, he hit the treehouse with his book and fell asleep.

Camping

So. The underlings have been whining about camping again. In case you didn't know, I'm somewhat of a delicate flower, and camping is not part of a delicate flower's repertoire. Another problem is that our tent is only big enough for four. So, my idea was, we go to the campground up the road, I'll hang out and make s'mores or whatever, then, once the kids and husband are tucked into their sleeping bags, I'll go home and sleep. Someone has to keep an eye on the livestock, anyway, right? Then, I'll show up in the morning with lattes and a non-stiff neck. Everybody wins!

But, no.

Yesterday, Mitch came home with a new tent the size of my first apartment. Three rooms! With a dog door! We set it up in the backyard to check it out. There was room for my ginormous airbed with plenty of space to walk around, and two side rooms for the kids. The children got all excited and convinced us we should definitely sleep in it that night. So, we set up all the beds and they happily played in there while the adults drank some wine on the patio. Hmmm, camping isn't so bad, I thought to myself. Then, since there was already an electrical cord strung into the tent for my bed, they decided to bring a tv in there and watch a movie. They spent the rest of the evening doing that while I continued to sip my wine inside, in peace. I love camping! As it was getting dark, Mitch gathered up his pillow and headed out with the dog. I decided someone should stay inside to keep their eye Jack and Dylan, who opted out of the family camping experience due to extreme coolness. I woke up 9 hours later with pillow creases on my face and alone in my bed. I slept so well I even brought a tray of hot breakfast sandwiches and coffee to my sleeping campers. I can honestly say that I enjoy camping, and am going to encourage the rest of my family to sleep in the tent for the rest of the summer. Because I'm a giver, and I want them to experience the joys of the great outdoors.

You take the good, you take the bad...

Things that are making me happy today:

• In every room of the house, there is a tiny little tea party set up for stuffed animals, dolls, Barbies, and even action figures. The ingenuity used to make all these tiny tables and chairs and tableclothes! Wait, has anybody seen my box of feminine supplies?......
• While making his bed today (yes, sometimes I make their beds, just so I remember what they look like when they aren't messy), I found all of Henry's favorite sleeping buddies (elephant, Batman, Curious George) tied together with my bathrobe tie so they wouldn't lose each other during the night.
• Jack's friend Dylan is up for the week while they attend sailing camp, and I heard them giggling long into the night.
• Salt and Pepper Kettle Chips

Things that are a tiny bit annoying today:

• After getting five children sunblocked and fed, dressed and lunches packed for the campers, and all the kids piled into the car, Olivia starts crying that she forgot to eat (no worries, though, because we were in my car, and there's always something edible floating around on the floor--oh look! A granola bar! I think.)
• We had to stop at Walmart to get some more Super Soakers because we might inch above 70 degrees today, and Grace had to use the bathroom. Ick.
• I am a bit of a linen whore. Not as bad as shoes, but I likes me some niiice sheets and bedding. I came across a fantastic deal on some 510-thread count cotton sheets from Amazon, and they had great reviews, so I got them. After washing the sweat of underage factory workers off them a few times, I put them on my bed. And every time I rolled over, it felt like I was getting rugburns. You can imagine how lucky Mitch was to have me waking him up so I could complain about the burlap sheets all night.
• Too many Salt and Pepper Kettle chips. Urp.
  

Inevitable

Seamus is a dog of average intelligence. But, he doesn't shed, so that has always kind of made up for his unwillingness to learn. He finally discovered that we have chickens two days ago. Chickens that we've had for four weeks. Of course, because he's a member of this family, he quickly became obsessed with the chickens. When he's outside, he doesn't leave the chicken coop, and when he's inside, he whines to get back outside. Yesterday, I gave the kids Super Soakers to squirt him with when he tried to get into the coop. We all went inside, and Jack decided to go for a bike ride. One of the kids must have let the dog out without my knowledge, because a little while later, Jack came in from his bike ride, carrying the dog, with tears in his eyes and an ashen face.

"Seamus ate a chicken."

"WHAT? How do you know?" I cried.

"Well, he was inside the chicken coop. He'd tunneled under the fence and had one cornered. I counted, and there's only five chickens. He didn't even leave a foot or a beak."

The other children started getting upset, when Henry chimed in, "I bet it was Barbie that he ate!" Barbie is what Grace named her chicken. You can imagine how the scene went downhill from here. I got the younger kids calmed down and settled in front of a movie while I went to talk to Jack, who seemed devastated that his beloved dog had become a killer of an innocent chicken. I was upstairs in Jack's room when I noticed movement out of his window. It was coming from the woods behind the sports court. What the heck was that?











We ran downstairs..........











Ran outside......

Holy omelette! It's Barbie!!!!!!

She looked like she was returning from the desert after a peyote trip, disoriented and walking in circles, but she seemed fine after flying the coop and hiding in the woods for a couple of hours. Mitch's mission for the weekend: build a Seamus-proof yard for our feathered friends.

Greenish thumb

I've gardened more this spring than I have in the past 39 years combined. I even have tendonitis in my wrist to show for it. Everything around the house is looking pretty good, and the vegetable garden is even thriving. I had a fantasy of growing my own organic vegetables and was feeling pretty smug about my carbon footprint (ignore the fact that we have an enormous SUV, we hardly ever use it anymore, anyway). Here's the thing about growing your own food that I hadn't counted on. There is a lot of dirt and creatures involved. And the vegetables have slug holes and unidentified spots on them. In the grocery store, everything is plump and beautiful and clean. Now, logically, I know that taking a bite of a chemically treated piece of lettuce is worse for you then an organically grown one, but, like, there's holes in it, where a slug was slithering accross it. Ew. So, I scrub and cut around the holes and curse this crunchy lifestyle. I've gotten really good at lobbing slugs way out into the woods, though. Just wait until I start complaining about eggs that come out of poopy chicken butts.

Happy F-Day

I've added this picture of Jack in his soccer tournament to illustrate how his busy day began. At 7:30 am on Saturday. When we got home after a day of soccer, we made him mow the lawn without pay, even though "all of his friends get paid at least twenty bucks for mowing their lawns!" He couldn't give me anyone's phone number so I could confirm that, though, so, here he is, mowing the lawn for free.
On Sunday (Happy Father's Day to you Dads out there!), I put the kids to work in the garden. Jack and Henry are only required to care for their designated rows, so it wasn't too traumatic.
The girls kept busy giving the chickens rides in the wagon while Mitch practiced chipping (or something with a golf club).
Here, the chickens are given their final wagon ride to their new home. Cluck cluck cluckity cluck rhymes with....
The day was finished with some kind of charred beast and cherry pie, of course. My man is an amazing father. Even if he lets his 11 year-old drive the tractor when I'm not even allowed to touch it.

Schooooooool's out..... fo'...... summah!

I had my camera on the wrong setting, so you can't tell much from this picture, but the halls of the elementary school are lined with parents, cheering as all the kids exit the building, blowing bubbles, silly string, and blasting music. Then, as the buses pull out, all the teachers are lined up, cheering and waving while the buses and all the cars honk their horns. Today is another one of those days where I love living here (check back tomorrow, though, I'll probably have thought of a reason I don't like it again).

Banana

Henry: "Jack, may you please hand me a banana?"

Jack: "May you please? I don't even know what that means. I'm not handing you a banana until you ask for it properly."

Henry: "Will you please hand me a banana, butthole?"

Field Day...

...was off to a bad start. The pouring rain caused Henry's group to miss 1 1/2 hours of play, then, when it was their turn for the fire hoses, there was an emergency and the firefighters had to leave! Sad, sad, faces. What do you mean, by 'fire hoses', Kate? Every year on field day, the firefighters come and let the kids turn their firehoses on each other, which is about as awesome as you can get. Sometimes, I think it's the only reason we still live here. Anyway, the kids put on their happy-ish faces and got down to business:
A blindfolded spray bottle fight did a pretty good job of soaking them. A bonus is that now I don't need to give him a bath.
Wait.........



What's that sound?









Is it a siren?





It is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






Woooo Hooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And now they don't need enemas, either.

School zone

I snapped this picture of Henry at school. Only 15 hours left, when you add it all up. Which he makes me do every day when he gets home. His face is pointed toward the window, but he looks a million miles away.

The chicks are getting to be chickens. Please pass the hand sanitizer.

Too exhausted to think of a title for this dumb post.

Oh, hi there! I've been busy and uninspired and exhausted. The boys and I went to Spokane for my brilliant, handsome, and funny nephew's graduation (hi Scott, I hope I didn't embarrass you when I yelled "I LOVE YOU SCOTT!" in the middle of the ceremony). Also, I missed sweet Nora's college graduation from Dartmouth. Meanwhile, Mitch took the girls to his nephew's wedding. In which they wore their clunky Keen's with their pretty dresses (but I'm sure everyone could see that Dad was in charge for the weekend) and they had a wonderful time. This is the last week of school (yay!!!!!) and sports (double yay!!!!).

The chickens are getting their feathers (still gross) and Seamus got into the girls candy stash of tootsie rolls and barfed everywhere, so it's pretty much business as usual around here.

Politics

Jack: "I don't think I'm going to run for anything again."

Me: "Really? Already disillusioned with politics? Why?"

Jack: "I found out I actually have to do stuff."

Conversation from the backseat.

Jack: "I've never seen a real drunk person before."

Henry: "Do we live in the same house?"

(In my defense, Henry thinks I'm "drunk" if I let him watch Jack play a video game with a little fighting in it so I can have some alone time with my husband. And a glass of wine. Whatever. Shut up.)