Winding down

We've been cramming every last bit of summer we can into each day. Between the torrential downpours, that is. How gross is it to hold a chicken when you're wet? According to Olivia, not gross at all.


I'm pretty proud of our vegetable garden this year. I actually sort of kept up with the nettles and weeds, and there has been plenty of yummy stuff to munch on. Henry discovered that beets turn your pee and poop red, which is really awesome. The kids love to go into the garden, grab a carrot, rinse it off with the hose, and spend the afternoon munching away. I'm sure I'll read somewhere that doing that will give them cancer. Today I found out that their lunchboxes probably have toxic levels of lead.
My long-haired boy is off to spend the week in the big city with his friend Dylan. Grace is constantly worried that he's missing her. She has a healthy ego, that one. The new school clothes are all arriving on the door step, new shoes are here (and they fit!), and their backpacks are lined up, filled with school supplies and boxes of Kleenex. Speaking of Kleenex, I totally embarrassed myself today. We went to the school to sign the girls up for kindergarten orientation, and when the secretary asked them if they were excited to be going to kindergarten, I burst into tears. Then, the developmentally disabled woman who was volunteering in the office berated the secretary for making me cry. It was comically awful.

County Fair

Well, hello there. I had to pull the tea cozy off this blog to tell you a story about a clown. Also, I haven't been chronicling anything we've been doing without the "I'd better bring my camera, there might be a good post in this little adventure" nagging me, so here I am. How do you like my new outfit? Does it make me look fat? (Any of you who may have gotten a bazillion Youtube videos of dancing five year-olds in your readers, I apologize. I have no idea what happened there) . Onward!

We went to the County Fair yesterday. I made the kids promise they wouldn't ask to go on rides, but that we'd do everything else. The rides are old and rickety, and last year Henry slipped out from under the safety bar on the Octopus, and also, my name is Kate, and I'm a safety freak and a germ-a-phobe. Whatever, they didn't really care about the rides anyway. A good time was had by all, mostly. The three youngest entered the Lego competition. The girls' age group went first, and I'm willing to bet it was the first Lego Angel the fair has ever seen. They were thrilled with their rainbow 'participation' ribbons. Henry's age group was next, and these kids were hardcore. Henry wasn't as thrilled with his ribbon, because he didn't win the competition, but his structure was solid, symmetrical, and cool, even without torpedoes and blasters (it was a violence free Lego competition, which left most of the boys competing at a loss for what to make).
There was much petting of animals, and even Chicken Olympics (don't even ask). Also, much hand sanitizing.
I entered the beautiful quilts my sister Kim made the girls, and there were tons of entries, but look! A blue ribbon!
And another! I'm not sure how they did the judging, but obviously, Kim's quilts were the most beautiful. The girls were pretty upset when I took the quilts, but were very excited to see them hanging at the fair.
My man took third in the homemade Mead competition, and he was clearly robbed. Assholes. Jack could not believe how lame the home-grown beets were. His are twice as big and gorgeous. Next year, I think he's going to enter them.

I noticed that a certain clown was performing on one of the stages, and we'd seen this guy perform years ago at one of Henry's preschool functions. I remembered him as being pretty funny and all the kids responding very well to him. Now, Henry has a serious clown phobia, and I thought it might be a perfect chance to show him that clowns are harmless and fun, because I'm an idiot. Clowns SUCK! We sat in the very front row, because,did I mention I was an idiot? It started off okay, a lot of slapstick involving about a hundred cardboard moving boxes, falling and 'hurting' himself, that kind of thing. The three youngest laughed and seemed to be having a good time (although I thought Jack might pluck his eyeballs out). Then, the clown invited a kid up onstage to have a "box fight", in which the kid puts boxes on his hands and feet, the clown does the same, and they beat the crap out of each other. At this point, many of the parents are shifting uncomfortably in their seats and we're regretting being stuck in the front tow. Henry's lower lip had just begun trembling when the effing clown invited ALL the kids up on stage for a tower building competition. Grace and Olivia ran up, followed by a tentative Henry, who was NOT A PUSSY. The stage was covered in boxes, and the riled up kids did what any kids who had just seen a "box fight" did, they started throwing boxes at each other and attacking the clown. Henry was off the stage in a heartbeat, blinking a hundred miles a minute to hold back the tears of terror. Some kids just stood up there and started crying. Olivia was right in the thick of it, throwing boxes with the rest of them, and Grace was off to the side, laughing, but staying out of the way. All the parents were looking around, wondering if this was supposed to be happening, surely, this must all be an act? We grabbed the girls off the stage and got the hell out of there. Jack was disappointed, as we left just as it was getting good.

SO! I'm pretty sure I didn't solve Henry's clown phobia yesterday.

It's not you, it's me.

Taking a break from the blog for a while. I'm just feeling kind of tired of it.


Peace out

Dog days

It's funny, but when I look at this photo, all I notice is how much the treehouse could use a good sweeping. Maybe that's why I'm not an adolescent boy.

I've been trying to get the kids ready for school, a little tiny bit at a time. Kind of a "death by a thousand cuts" rather than doing it all at once. This method isn't helping me feel any less devastated that my last babies are officially entering the system. I think it's actually prolonging my distress. Last week, I logged on to the school website and plugged in my security code to see if the school supply lists were out yet. There it was, in black and white. All four kids' names were entered in the public school system. I didn't take it well. I did what I normally do in a stressful situation. Shopped and cooked. Backpacks and macaroni and cheese. With four kinds of cheese! I let the girls pick out their own packs. As you can see, Olivia picked pink on pink with flowers, and Grace picked a tasteful, uh, leopard print with hot pink accents.At this rate I'll be fat and broke by the time kindergarten actually rolls around. Oh, wait......

Picking

I took the kids strawberry picking yesterday. Last year, they plopped down into a row and had their baskets full of ripe, juicy strawberries in minutes. This year, the cold, wet weather has wreaked havoc with the strawberries on the island. It was actually work, and the kids whined and complained. We barely filled one basket. Sometimes, those idyllic pictures you have in your mind of how things should be turn out to be crap.

When we got home, I felt the need to console myself with shoes. Now, since my closet overfloweth, I knew I couldn't get away with shopping for myself, and Jack and Henry had absolutely no interest in it, so I grabbed the girls and we sat down in front of the internet. We printed out measuring guides and comparison shopped for about two hours. When all was said and done, we ended up with five pairs, because Grace couldn't give up the red patent Mary Janes (nor could I). Not that I feel the need to justify or anything, but they're going to kindergarten, and they need good shoes for PE, and dressy shoes 'cuz they're girls. And red patent Mary Janes because you're only five once.

The crummy day of strawberry picking was all worth it, when, as I was tucking Grace into bed, she whispered, "I don't think I can sleep, I'm so excited about the new shoes!" Now, that's my girl.

Vacation, IV

The rest of the week passed too quickly, according to the kids. Apparently, they could have used more s'mores and cousins, aunts, and grandparents.


Um, yeah, I broke down. I just wanted to read my book on the deck, so I put on a movie for the girls and sent Henry with his cousins Blake and Anthony up to my sister Kim's unoccupied cabin. The blind leading the naked. I was supposed to be watching them all while my sisters were shopping, but I sucked at it. They covered the place in Febreze and Easy cheese. I periodically sent Jack up to check on them, and while he always came back chuckling, he said, "oh, they're just fine."

"What exactly are they doing?"

"Just, you know, stuff." Whatever, I thought, as I went back to my book. Jack was also reading a book. He had given his cousin Scott money to buy a replacement of the book he left at camp, and he would only read it for a few minutes at a time. When I asked him about this, he said, "Since I had to buy it with my own money, I want it to last. When I'm done reading it, I'll probably reread it three more times, so I feel like I got my money's worth."
More fishing and Easy Cheese. This is the first time my boys had ever sampled the wondrous, orange canned nectar. "It's not as gross as it looks!" was Henry's review.

The last time any of the kids got into the water, after Grace let out a blood-curdling scream that could be heard across the great state of Montana. Apparently, a crawdad had attached itself to her tender little calf, poor thing.

We went to the National Bison Range on our way out of Montana. The kids were most impressed not with the close proximity they were to hundreds of the enormous beasts, but by the size of their poop. Duh!
We drove straight through, a good 13 hours in the car after we missed a ferry. Our house seemed huge after spending a week together in one room cabins and hotel. Hooray for three bathrooms!

Vacation, III

After our lovely hotel stay we spent some time at Glacier Natl. Park. The scenery was breathtaking, and my incredibly mature 12 year-old showed us his Continental Divide (yes, he wanted me to include this picture on the blog).
We did a few other Montana touristy (why yes, that is a word, because I say it is) things, but due to the bats, I missed visiting with my Dad's siblings, so BITE ME, Lake Mary Ronan Lodge! The kids were anxious to get back to their cousins so they could play on the rusty deathtrap of a playground and swim and fish together. As an aside, I couldn't find a coffee stand anywhere. What gives, Montana? Didn't you know I was coming? What, like there's no room for a little espresso machine amidst all the beaded "Montana" belts?

Breakfast in bed in the new, clean, modernized cabin. The oven even had a vent above it!
All the kids caught their first fish:

The people camping in the background behind Jack set up their own little satellite dish and spent the whole time inside their pop-up tent watching tv.

Vacation, Part II.

What is that, up in the corner? Let me tell you alllllll about it. The resort was described as "rustic", which I guess translates to a dump. As we drove in, I was greeted by a gorgeous lake, surrounded by trees and wildlife. My love for the place was soon shattered, however, when we arrived at our cabin. The carpet, I won't talk much about, other than to say I wouldn't let the children walk across it without shoes on. I saw what I thought was a mouse turd in the bathroom sink (it wasn't, but more on that later). Perhaps the worst thing was the used, dirty soap in the shower. All I could think about was where that particular bar of soap might have been. I picked it up with a plastic bag and threw it in the trash, lest one of the kids wash their face with something that had been in a grizzled old fisherman's butt crack. I mean, fine if there's NO soap, but dirty soap? I still haven't gotten over it. The cabin was advertised as having our own private dock. One that, if you stepped on it, your foot was likely to go through one of the rotting boards. I was determined to make the best of it, however, because other than Jack, who recognizes a rip-off when he sees one, the kids were in heaven, surrounded by their cousins, aunts, and grandparents.

I popped and Ambien and gingerly climbed into the bed. A couple of hours later, I was awaked by noises. I thought it was Mitch, hissing at the dog, at first, but then we turned on the light. It was an army of bats, flying about the cabin. The kids were all sound of sleep, so Mitch and I spent the next several hours sitting up, glassy-eyed, with the lights on. The Ambien was kicking my ass, so I tried to drift off while the bats continued to fly about. SPLAT! on my forehead. So, that's what was in the bathroom sink, I thought to myself. Of course there was no sleeping after that. I threw a blanket over my head and ran out to get the laptop. Surprisingly, this place had internet service! We found a nice hotel up in Whitefish and had the car packed up at first light. The resort "suddenly" had a privately owned, beautiful cabin available, which rented for thirty dollars less a night than the bat cave. We had already paid for Whitefish, but decided to come back the next evening to the nice place. The hotel might as well have been the Four Seasons, so stark was the contrast. And the best part?

A Waterslide!

After spending the afternoon swimming, we ordered pizza and crashed in our clean, air-conditioned room with new soap.

Vacation, Part I.

Mitch decided we should throw an extra 4 hours into our journey east by going over the North Cascades Highway. In this way, we could see a lot of dams and scenery. Behold, the mighty Coulee Dam! Henry went into the visitor's center with one goal: to find the dam gift shop and get a dam t-shirt. Unfortunately, there was no dam gift shop. A merchandising opportunity down the toilet, if you ask me. Dammit. In the Coulee area are many little developments where the summer migrant workers live. One of my two favorite sights was a mobile home, with two 6-foot tall concrete lions at the entrance. My other favorite sight was not of a white ice cream truck tooling around the neighborhoods, but a taco truck! Of course I didn't get photos, because Mitch was zooming by too quick. If it wasn't a dam or nature, he wasn't into stopping. Another thing about the North Cascades Highway, is that it's twisty and turny. I handed each child their gallon ziploc, and here is a picture of my girl, moments before she filled that thing half full with mini corn-dogs and whatever else she had eaten for lunch. A little did drip out on her clothes, which we decided to just throw away, rather than pack barfy clothes with us for a week. But, how awesome of her to have gotten most of it in her ziploc? God job, Olivia!
The next morning, we arrived to pick up Jack and Anthony from camp. Jack was a wreck of exhaustion, so I guess it's no surprise that he lost his backpack, water bottle and carrier, pillow, brand new hardcover ($20!) book, and about half his clothes at camp. But they had a great time, and were full of gross stories. The grossest of which, Jack claimed proudly that he had only brushed his teeth once all week. "I kinda lost my toothbrush, but I found it again today. It turned out to be in my suitcase the whole time!"

Learning to ride

The girls have discovered the boys' cast-off bikes. The first time Olivia tried, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "THIS IS THE LIFE!!!!" and proceeded to sing, "I belieeeeeve I can flyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" while riding around the yard. And, what's cuter than those sparkly shoes against that boy bike? Grace is doing really well, too. She's not quite the daredevil Olivia is, but she's trying. And dammit, we're proud of her!
I will say this about teaching Grace to ride a bike. It helps to have a little, um, help:
The baby Juncos are getting big. They'll probably have left the nest by the time we return from vacation. The kids have learned a lot about Juncos and their nesting habits, thanks to Google. I heart you, Google.
So, I'm all packed. I packed my Senseo coffee maker, too, since we got a power inverter for the car. So I can plug in my Aerobed. That will make camping a lot more palatable. Along with my airbed. And Ambien. I can't wait to see the look on Mitch's face when we get to the campsite and I unpack my ginormous coffee maker! Stick that in your Swiss Army knife, dude.

Twelve

I'm feeling sorry for myself. It's my widdle boy's birthday today and he's at camp. I can't snuggle him or bring him breakfast in bed. In fact, it's pretty boring around here this week without him. Olivia and Grace have taken to punching Henry so he doesn't miss Jackie too much (yes, I just called my twelve year-old 'Jackie', and there's nothing he can do about it). At least he has the mosquitos to snuggle him.

Planning

I've got three lists that I keep adding to for our vacation. One for food items, one for camping/general comfort, one for kid stuff. This is not counting the clothes/shoe list. And Mitch is all, "When I was in the Peace Corps I would head out with nothing but a liter of water, my sleeping bag, and my swiss army knife, and be just fine for days. Why do you have to stress so much?"

I know, right? Like, he should totally go suck a Peace Corps egg. What I really want to do is send him and four young children out into the woods with five sleeping bags, five water bottles, and one swiss army knife, and say, "See you in a few days!" Especially since my children can't make it an HOUR without a fricking bowl of goldfish crackers.

Weekend update

We had Jack's birthday/farewell-before-camp dinner on Friday. Mussels, lots of crab (thank you Gary!), shrimp, and a bunch of other food that nobody touched because we were stuffed with seafood. On Saturday, we had members of Mitch's family and various cousins for the afternoon. The girls all had a great time running full-tilt across the yard, yelling, "CANNONBALL!!!!" and then gingerly stepping into the pool.

These two cousins look like they might be related. You can't really see the giant, bloody goose-egg on Henry's forehead. He now has a scar that matches the one on the other side, so he can tell people it's where we had his horns surgically removed. I won't say how it happened, because Jack doesn't want people to think he's a bad kid for "accidentally" slamming the door while his brother's head happened to be in it.

What is it about boys?

I dropped Jack off this morning at Beth's, who graciously drove three 12 year old boys and her daughter across the state to camp, poor thing. I'm sure she didn't hear the word "fart" once. We're gearing up for our trip to Montana at the end of the week, or as Grace calls it, HannahMontana. I've got my 8 bottles of spray sunblock coming (yes, I order everything online--that is how much I hate Wal-Mart), David Sedaris' new book on CD, a few new DVDs for the kids, and a full bottle of Ambien. The dog has an embarrassing new haircut, which has caused him to become depressed and withdrawn. He's coming with us. If he gets annoying, I figure I can just remove his batteries and stick him under the seat. We've got our house-sitter lined up, and now the only thing left to do is pack, I guess. Mitch wants to take the kids east over the North Cascades Highway and spend the night at Grand Coulee Dam, which sounds soooooo 1973, but whatever.

Nature, baby.

It's nature day here in the country. This morning we had seven deer in the yard. Here's one checkin' out the chicken coop (which the boys had to clean out this afternoon-gross!). The most exciting news is that we've been keeping our eye on a nest in one of my hanging planters. Yesterday, there were four eggs, and this morning, thee babies have hatched. They're so flipping cute. In a gross, naked, blind chicken sort of way.

Look at those hungry beaks! I haven't got the hang of the close-up setting on my camera, but you can sort of make out the other egg and their little open mouths.

"Bitch, get the eff away from my babies!"

Also, I helped Jack pack for camp this afternoon, but I'd rather go hunting with Dick Cheney than relive that nightmare, so just know that I've suffered today.