Call It What You Want...

Guys, can you both sit still and smile?


Okay. How about looking at the camera?


No. At me.


Mark? Put your shirt down.


That's so nice. Now can you look at me?


Um. Please note that the peanut gallery in the background is laughing at my efforts.


Wow.


No, I didn't want a picture of a dog.


Or another dog.


Seriously, guys!

Hmm, maybe there's strength in numbers?


Let's get more involved here.


Perhaps if we get the awful faces out of the way...
(Please note Grandpa, standing in the back, sneaking out to make a video of me trying to photograph the precious children.)


Um, okay, as long as it leads to a cute picture in a minute...


Not yet. Except for Andrew. Boy, he's cute. And cooperative.


Getting better. Maybe this is why the parents usually have to be in the picture.


I think I'll take what I've got and call it good.

Maybe we should have tried this before dessert.

We started the celebrations with a visit to Reynolds Farm Equipment to see Santa. Before we went inside, though, the boys ran to the nativity and knelt down before the Baby. Wow. Thanks, guys, for having the right priorities.



Opening presents was much fun on Christmas morning. Each boy got some Lego stuff (Adam's is Duplo, the little-finger version).


Mark is great at putting together all the little pieces that make Lego trucks and stuff. Let's just not talk about the crawler-track crane yet. I'll look back and laugh when I'm 90, I'm sure.




The guys made Christmas cookies with Grandma, too. And made a mess of themselves as well.



Then on Saturday I got to go see my friend's new baby, born the day after my birthday. She's two weeks old now and weighs six pounds and is as sweet as can be.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

Friday dawned with driving rain. Mark was highly distressed. "I don't want it to be raining on Halloween!" he said, offended.

"Halloween isn't until tomorrow. We have time for the rain to stop."

He was not convinced. He went through the rainy Friday fretting about the weather not shaping up for him. He should not have feared. Saturday was perfect from sunrise until well after sunset -- not too warm (Halloween is supposed to be crisp, after all), but not so cold that a jacket under the costume wouldn't suffice.

The boys were adorable.

Mark chose to be a firefighter again (third year running -- he likes what he likes, and I like not having to come up with a costume).

Adam didn't want to be "anyfing" but after some consideration, agreed to be Bob the Builder. All the ingredients were around the house: a pair of overalls (he eschews them generally, but was willing to wear them for the day), a plaid shirt of Mark's (big enough to fit over his jacket), hard hat and tools fitted into one of Mark's belts.

Highlights:

* An autistic neighbor boy, seeing Adam in costume, started singing the Bob the Builder theme song. He was still singing it later when we saw him again. He was very excited by it.

* A group of neighbors had set up a block party on their cul-de-sac, complete with fire pits and candy all around the circle. They were also sharing supper together and having a great time (what a great idea!).

* Buckets full of candy. Wow.

* Awesome pumpkins carved by Tim, the king of pumpkin carving. This year we had a steamroller and a train engine.

Here are the intrepid trick-or-treaters, ready to go.
(Please note the pliers, ready to fall out of the belt. They did, within three houses, but when we went back, we found them.)

I learned a new "getting along" technique from Linda yesterday and thought I would try it out on the boys. I explained the details, and only have tried it once. Just now I heard Mark trying it out himself.

Mark: "Adam, don't throw sand on me!" (Louder) "Adam, don't throw sand on me!" (Pause) "Now's your chance to say 'I'm sorry.'"
(very short pause)
Adam: "I'm sorry."
Mark: "See, now no one has to get punished!"

I like.
Linda's suggestion is that this helps her kids stand up for themselves without escalating with fighting. ("Don't hit me!" rather than hitting back.) I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.
I loved hearing Mark try it out.
We'll see where that goes.

This morning at MOPS when I was checking Adam in to the 2's class, Mark met up with his friend Autumn, who also has a brother in the 2's room. They played together while the moms checked the little guys in, and then it was off for the trek to the 4's class. It's a rather long way to the 4's room, as they ran out of space for all the kids in the "close" classes, and Mark and Autumn held hands and skipped all the way there.

Class was fun for everyone, all went well. I picked Mark up first and we made the trip all the way to the other end of the church to get Adam. While I was getting Adam and his stuff, I saw Autumn appear, her face streaked with tears.

Apparently, it was our fault. IT SEEMS that Mark left class before she did, and she didn't get to tell him goodbye. Or give him his hug and kiss, so it seems. Hugs were exchanged, and more hugs as it took a few more minutes to get little brothers into their coats. Her tears only completely stopped when I told her that maybe sometime she could come over and play with Mark (they live in the neighborhood across the way from ours). Her face brightened, and she turned to her mom and said, "I can come to MARK'S house to play sometime!!!" She might have even been breathless.

We walked out together, Mark and Autumn holding hands again. He talked about her most of the way home (except when I forced him to tell me about the police officer who visited their class today). He talked about having her come over. (This might be the first friend he's been excited about inviting over, by the way. Except for "his Reynoldses" of course, and his cousins.)

Awwwwww.

Got some cute pictures of the boys on the computer this week, so I thought I should share...

Adam demonstrates his building skills. Would the Denver Developmental Tests say his fine motor skills are okay?

In this image, we catch Mark on what might have been his first date. He told me yesterday that he was kissing Anna. I thought he had just slipped his arm around her in a super-smooth date-move. Incidentally, both moms were there to supervise said date, so all was fine.

Here we see how Daddy deals with boys drawing in the condensation on the front door... he gives them cleaner cloths and puts them to work! They cleaned what they could reach, and then Mark retrieved a stool to clean a little higher (which explains how he appears THAT much taller than Adam). They were very proud of their work.

 

We got a couple inches of snow Sunday morning, and it was enough -- and of the right texture -- to make perfect snowmen! Our two snow-people are facing each other in the yard and waving their arms. So we couldn't get Adam to participate in the photo op... he was more than ready for his nap!

alternately: Mark's ACTUAL Fourth Birthday

We made it to the actual birthday, and in the midst of several exciting things -- one of my very long-time friends from way back in the golden years came for a visit, and Mark and Tim went to a tailgate at church, among other things -- we did celebrate a certain boy's real fourth birthday... though the present-opening will have to continue for more days as he did not finish.

Daddy got him a Bob the Builder DUPLO block set. This was wonderful. This is what contributed to the not-wanting-to-talk-on-the-phone-even-to-accept-birthday-wishes (he threw the phone down when Grandma Sarah called -- sorry BigMama) and the unwillingness to open any more presents.

In showing his true character, he let his brother play with even the best present he got. Serious good brother points here.

Another birthday cake -- and though *I* didn't break the bottom layer OR run out of frosting (ahem!), it pretty much looked the same as last week's (except it was a yellow cake and not chocolate)... and it ate the same, too!

"Mommy, you forgot to put ICE CREAM!" Mark told me. Gulp, I thought. I don't even know if we HAVE suitable ice cream. We did. Mark was pleased, though he still chose not to eat much cake (like last week). He had TOYS to play with.

Adam, however, DID choose to eat the cake again. He was quite pleased with the frosting and all the joy that comes with attempting to pick off all the little sprinkles.

Guess since we have more presents to open, we'll have birthday again tomorrow. Wonder how long he can stretch this out?

Mark desperately wanted Grandma and Grandpa to celebrate his birthday with him, and since they were here last weekend -- and since, as the givers of the most impressive pile of gifts known to man or small boy as my mother is a true gift-giving addict (which works well for me, the picture of greed) -- we decided to let Mark have an early birthday.

He and Grandma made his birthday cake while I was at sewing, commencing the frosting of said cake the next day and living through the disaster that apparently is BigMama putting together a layer cake -- so that's why we never had layer cakes -- and madly attempting to get the remaining frosting to cover the whole thing (which ended up turning out fine. Frosting covers a multitude of accidents, doesn't it).

Then, of course, it was time for Grandma's big pile o'presents. I mean Grandma and Grandpa, of course, as he is certainly along for the ride. :)

Adam didn't want to be more than a few inches away from the man with the presents, hoping and hoping he'd get to play with some.

Mark was very good about sharing his presents with his little brother. Really impressive, since he's just turning 4. (Four! I have a four-year-old, as of tomorrow!!! GLEEPS!)

He also made the appropriate happy faces as he opened the presents and discovered the wonders that were inside. Look at the face in this one!

(Bob the Builder is a can't-lose choice!)

Then it was off to the famous cake that Mark worked so hard on:

He hardly ate any of it, owing to the keen longing he had to get back to his toys and play with them. But his little brother didn't seem to have any trouble tackling the whole cake issue.

"Yommy, Yommy CAKE!" says Adam.

We'll have more birthday this weekend on his actual birthday (tomorrow). But I have heard from some of my loyal fans that they'd appreciate a new posting since the boys started school three weeks ago and I haven't written since. (Sorry.)

 

This morning was the first day of school! It's hard to believe a year has passed since our first first day! It was so exciting! Of course, getting everyone ready willingly was a bit of a challenge...

We finally all got into the car...

Happily, of course. "I am not going to smile," Mark promised me. Let me assure you, he kept his word.

Okay, guys, hold hands and smile so I can get a picture of this moment.

(please note the effort Mark is putting into looking mad...)

Once in the building, they were off down the hall to their classrooms. I was concerned that Adam might cry a little the first day, but that did not end up being an issue. He was off, into the room without a look back.

And when I came to pick them up, Adam greeted me with a gleeful "Hi, Mommy!" Mark told me he wasn't ready to leave. But he didn't keep frowning.

What a happy day!

A little boy in my house turned two today. Unfortunately, it was a spotty day for moods, and most of them were bad. But the end of the day certainly made up for it...

Adam had breakfast in the "It's my special day!" bowl that I painted at the pottery place here in town. I had to be very careful not to fill it very full. He was happy about it. And stuffed his cheeks full.

He got a card from Tim's aunt Margrethe and uncle Jim and was very excited to find what was inside: "DOWWAS!" (dollars)

He carried around the $2 bill all morning, saying "Dowwas! Dowwas!" Mark was vexed at this and pointed out that it was just ONE dollar; there weren't two of them!

Later, it was presents from grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousins, and yes, even mom and dad, though we certainly picked the wrong present to open with, as everything ground to a halt after he saw...

THIS.

Favorite babysitter Sam and her mom and dad came over -- both Steve and Tammy are the boys' friends in their own right: Tammy used to hold Mark and draw truck pictures for him at the ladies' Bible study at church when I went on Wednesday mornings, and Steve plays with the boys when they go to the men's Bible study with Dad on Saturdays -- to share birthday cake and ice cream. Adam was worried at first to see Sam and only wanted to cuddle with me or Tim (don't leave me!), but after he realized we really truly weren't leaving, he was fine.

All in all, it was a vehicle-focused birthday, with tractors, trains, trucks and construction equipment -- and a very big Clifford. Mr. Adam, now two, is in truck-lover heaven.

Now here's hoping for some decent sleep tonight.

Is it a surprise to say that Mark has become an expert at manipulating his brother?

Adam has a toy that Mark would really like to play with. Adam isn't interested in parting with it -- until...

Mark offers another toy, often something that is special to him in some way (example: Doggy). "Here you go," he tells Adam in a super-sugary voice.

Adam accepts the offered toy, sometimes (but not always) setting down the original item. Sometimes Adam even offers the wanted item to Mark.

Mark accepts the toy graciously and goes off to play with his new acquisition.

Adam thinks he really scored a deal with whatever he now has.

How long until Mark learns to say, "Trade-able?"

These are our cute little rocks from Lakeside. There are two each from Jonathan and Mark, and one each from Grandma Sarah, Tara, Brian, Tim, and me, with a last one painted by me and left at the house from all of us. Oh, I forgot (here are your invisible friends, Heather): Adam and Andrew each painted one.

Any guesses on who made which rock?

P.S. No guesses from people who painted rocks, Big Mama!

I have just tucked Mark into bed and am getting ready to do more cleaning and stuff, when I really need to be going off to the store and getting stuff for next week, because Tim is at the emergency room with Adam.

Yes. After a day of practicing reallly hard at being two -- the birthday is only two months, one week and five days away, after all -- Adam rebelled against pick-up time, too, and in the process of putting the scarves away stuck his head into the scarf bucket -- a metal popcorn tin. Except he hit the side of his eye on the edge of the tin and put a nice gash in the side of his left eyebrow.

Remember if you will just shy of two years ago, when Adam was a mere week old and Mark took a header off the church pew and put a hole above his right eyebrow.

Yes. I am now going to have a matching pair, I suppose.

*For those of you who wonder, while Tim was on the phone with the insurance company's nurse line, Adam was sitting quietly on my lap and watching a Thomas movie (turned on to distract him) only getting mad when I had the audacity to hold ice on the owie, which wasn't actively bleeding at the time, simply gaping. It's a 1/4-inch gash with smooth edges, and there's swelling on the edge of the browbone area. He'll be fine.

Returned from the hospital, Adam just wanted to cuddle Mommy -- or play -- but definitely not go to bed. He got glue and is fine. :)

Today was a very special day. My dear friend Anne came by with her new son, Aaron, who arrived this month. It has been a long journey for them -- Anne, Andy and Aaron -- to become a family, and I feel like I've had a front-row seat.

I cried back in March when she called and told me that the adoption people had called, and that, surprise of all surprises, their child, for whom they'd waited for all this time (they'd been in "the system" for over two years) was a boy! (Okay, so everyone who knows me knows that I'm soppy anyway.)

So today, Anne and Aaron stopped for a visit and lunch. The boys got along wonderfully, and Adam was very excited to have someone to show stuff to.

"Look!" Adam says, showing Aaron yet another exciting toy.

At one point, all three of them started doing laps around the dining room table, and since Aaron doesn't walk yet (he's working on it), all three were making the laps on all fours. It was cute.

Mark, for his part, was nervous about meeting his new friend, but discovered after Aaron had come and eaten with us that he was all right. "I know you, Anne," he told her. "I like you." This echoed some of the things I told him while he was waiting for Aaron to arrive. "You know Anne," I told him. "You like her. You'll like Aaron, too."

I'm looking forward to seeing the boys growing up together and being friends.

Yesterday was the last day of MOPS, and they brought the bigger kids in to sing a song for the moms.

I noticed a certain boy standing taller than all the other kids but one (who's 5). We came home and measured him on the growth chart in the hall. In the last year, Mark has grown 3 1/2 inches.

Adam has grown an inch since February, too, which isn't too shabby.

AND, on the last day of MOPS, as he was being turned over to the Toddlers' teacher, Amanda, he stuck his hands out to her. AND he gave hugs to her and the other girl who is the teacher in his class, Chelsea. After a whole year of crying when I left him, he finally decided it was fun...

Also titled "In Which Mark Rides a Tractor with a Seed Drill and Adam Wraps Grandpa Marv Around His Little Finger"

We had a nice evening with friends, and then Grandpa and Tim took the boys home while I hung out with the friends longer and gabbed. When I got home after 9 p.m., Grandpa was all excited. "Mark got to ride in the tractor! Adam and I went out looking for him and he had gotten a ride with the farmer!"

I could still hear Mark upstairs talking so I thought I'd get the story from him.

He was nowhere near asleep. He was sitting up in bed talking to his dad about the event, and when I came in, he had a lot to tell.

"The tractor came through the part where there are no trees, and I got to ride in it. I was a little crunky, but Daddy wanted to ride, so he held onto me. The seed drill was a little loud. It made the whole tractor and seed drill shake. The farmer's name is Seth. He's planting corn." Tim asked what he planted last year. "Soybeans. They didn't do so well. But then it rained." Apparently the rain salvaged what was about to be a lousy crop last year. Also apparently, Mark remembered everything the farmer had to say.

What happened was that while Grandpa was giving Adam an extended goodnight cuddle, Mark (already in his pajamas) and Tim went outside to see the tractor that was planting in the famous field behind our house. Unfortunately, the tractor got kind of far away, so they walked all the way to the trees (a long way) to see it. The farmer got out to check his seeds and saw them, and asked if they wanted a ride. Mark wasn't sure (big surprise there) but Tim convinced him to get in (they both did) and the farmer gave them a ride. Mark wanted more. Finally the farmer came back to this end of the field and dropped them right by our next-door neighbor's gate. In the meantime, Grandpa and Adam had come out looking for them and found them, and got to see the tractor too.

So it was back upstairs, and Grandpa cuddled Adam some more while Mark finished bedtime. Adam was still jumping in bed and shouting, so when Mark finished telling me the story, I went in and told Adam to go to sleep and started his music again. And shut the door. He got mad, and, like a trained seal, up came the spoiling-machine. "Can't I rock him?" Grandpa asked plaintively.

"Oh all right," Tim said, seeing the next week after Grandpa is gone as some repair-time for the sleep habits of someone little who's taken to being cuddled by Grandpa every night. But Grandpa's not here very often for spoiling, so we let it go...

But Grandpa is starting to see through him.

"I think, fine, I'll rock him, and he'll go to sleep," Grandpa reported as he came downstairs. "But no. He wanted to read a book!"

Fortunately, this time, Grandpa didn't give in.

P.S. The whole deal was a great way to blow bedtime!

This morning Adam is wearing a new hand-me-down shirt from his brother.

It's a size 3T.

(He can wear 2Ts just fine, but we don't have that many of them, because there's almost no difference between the 2T and the 3T in size.)

His pants are size 18 months, and they're rolled down at the waist to keep them up and to keep him from tripping on them.

In other news, he came over to me, said "potty" and grabbed his diaper. Then I smelled it. Instead of going to his bedroom to get his diaper changed when we got upstairs, he went to the bathroom and wanted to sit on the potty. The deed was already done, but I let him sit there anyway.

Are you kidding me?????

It was once again time for a haircut. Adam's little trim from before just wasn't good enough, and the little fly-aways around his ears were about to make him fly away. So it was time for Daddy's clippers to take care of the job.

Adam was, to say the least, not amused.

He ended up gripping me for dear life while Tim very carefully wielded the scissors, trying not to put out my eyes in the process. Even watching Bob the Builder didn't help the distress.

Nor did being finished.

Afterward, he got cuddled on my lap, sans hair-covered clothes, for a little while, and then he was okay to watch a little TV while Mark got his hair cut. Mark, of course, is an old hand.

But I do have the "after" evidence to prove that this time, yes, there was a haircut, and it was not all wonky.

At church on Sunday, one of Mark's friends said, "Mark! I almost didn't recognize you! You got a haircut!"

It wasn't that much of a haircut!

That's what Mark told me today at lunch. I'm not sure why. I mean, the guy who installed our new water heater (that would be Tim) -- he's amazing. The pediatric dentist and hygienist -- they're amazing. Mark, shortly after a temper tantrum? Not amazing. Mommy, for not hauling him to his room and locking the door? Yeah, maybe.

Tim got the hot water heater installed last night so I could have a shower this morning AND do dishes. Hurrah and hurrah. Praise and glory. All sorts of gushing in his honor. I am just happy to be able to bathe.

Mark got to go see Dr. Chad again. (No pictures of the cute dentist this time; sorry kids.) Dr. Chad was very impressed with Mark's good teeth. I think he'd already done a bunch of fillings this morning. He actually carried on a little about how nice Mark's teeth look. Perhaps there are a bunch of other three-year-olds running around our town with cavities and drinking pop and sugary drinks and not brushing their teeth every day. Adam also charmed the hygienists by saying "Brush" a lot of times. They gave him a toothbrush too, even though he didn't have a checkup. (That front bottom tooth, supposed to be the first to erupt, finally came through, so I stopped fretting.) Adam sat and watched as Mark had his checkup -- in the big boy chair, no less, with sunglasses on -- enthralled. He got rave reviews for being sweet. Both boys gave Dr. Chad high fives and Mark gave him a hug too. I like taking Mark to the dentist. It's an ego trip to hear him praised. (That, and I told Dr. Chad that my husband had his first cavity when he was 30, and Dr. C said that when I turn 30, I might have one too. Oh yeah, right, but go ahead....)

I hear questionable noises from the living room where both boys are and I am not, so I'd better go see what's afoot. Oh yeah, and eat some lunch. Boys are done with that, of course.

Amid drizzle and snow and a nasty wind that kicked up while we were out there, the boys attended our neighborhood's annual Easter Egg hunt with a generous handful of other children whose parents were just as nuts as we were. We wore coats and hats and still mostly froze our "bippies", as Grandma Sarah would say.

As you can see, the "field" was open, and there were plenty of eggs for the "Three and under" crowd to find, in a safe and less-muddy place than the rest of the park (I think a parent came up with this some years back). Mark, an old hand at the Easter Egg hunt, took off with Daddy, while Mommy stuck with Adam to help him learn how the whole thing worked.

Adam finds his first egg. He finally did pick it up and put it in his basket -- then immediately took it out and put it back on the ground.

He got the hang of it, gathering up two at once!

In the meantime, Mark branched out for some "harder" to find eggs. This photo explains why at least one egg had wet leaf and a dead worm on it.

That blurry black thing? That was the rock that Adam collected, along with his eggs.

Mom, it's cold and I'm ready to be done. Is this enough?

There were many more eggs that children, and in the three-and-under section, organizers were begging people to take more than the "10 per child". Mark obliged.

Frozen thoroughly, we got back in the car and went home to check our loot.

I believe that someday, some year, it will be warm for this thing.

I was in the kitchen working on something when I heard the words of our new favorite library book, The Mighty Street Sweeper.  Mark was reading it to Adam.

(That's Adam saying "Cheese" when the video first starts.)

"The BULLDOZER pushes things out of its way" (image shows the bulldozer moving a big bunch of rocks)
"The street sweeper goes around things that get in its way" (shows the street sweeper going around a skunk)

"The MOST POWERFUL TRUCK" (supposed to be "electromagnetic crane") can pick up a two-ton automobile!"
"The street sweeper can pick up a gum wrapper."

P.S. Tim asks that you include in your comment whether the video looked ok and worked for you.

It was a little busy this afternoon as Adam took a break to have his mullet trimmed:

 

It was hard to sit still, but he did it, aided by the cookie in his left hand. There is not a good "after" picture because, well, I'm not so proud of it. It seems someone has a cowlick at the base of his skull. But at least there's not a whole ton of hair curling out under and around his ears.

Then, Mark and Daddy tightened the kitchen chairs (see the Noblesvillain later for pictures), and Adam "helped." Update: Tim has now posted the pictures and story; go see it there.

Then Adam got a turn with the tools. Later he would say "Cheese!" for the camera, but here's a candid while he enjoyed the tools.

.

 

We always laughed at some of the pictures the Noblesvillain's mom took of him as a small child -- standing on the piano keyboard pounding on the top of the old upright piano, standing on the toilet lid pounding on the tank, standing on the ladder... you get the idea.

Well. The Noblesvillain has been taking a few pictures, too. Good thing Mommy wasn't around...

Hmmm, if I climb up here, I might be able to get onto the table...

This is what the boys do in the kitchen when mommy's not around (as opposed to the dishwashing found here). Yes, that is a drawer that is open right beside Adam's head. A drawer that he and his brother systematically emptied, as I understand it.

Ah-ha!!! Adam says as he reaches in again. "But they were playing so nicely!" their father protested. "They weren't fighting!"

Well. There's that.

And then there's this:

 and

Yeah. Such an angel. Dad, put down the camera and make him get down! (Actually, Tim was supervising closely, and the last was the only way to get him to smile for a picture. And no small children were harmed in the taking of these photos.)

Mark was feeling complimentary this afternoon at lunchtime.

"Thank you very much, Daddy, for making lunch."
and then...

"I'm very proud of you."

(It's better than some of the other attitude that he's been showing off lately.)

In other news...

Jonathan and Mark shared a book -- Jonathan "reading" -- before Jonathan had to leave from their little-bit-late Christmas visit.

And Mark and Adam wore the shirts Grandma AJ got them last summer.

It's not easy getting two boys to sit together nicely without a parent or two holding them down and without things getting a little rough, even if kissing is involved.

Happy 2008, everyone!

Happy New Year to everyone, even those who had to stay up all night with their sick little boys.

The same little boy then spent the next day on the couch. He's headed for bed now. I have hopes of sleep tonight. I think I'll be in bed by 9.

Here's hoping this does not predict anything for 2008 and what it has to offer.

Perhaps you didn't even notice I was gone, but I was... and now I'm back.

We had an extended visit to Laryy's Chicking Wranch while the Tim was off galavanting around Europe, and we had a few adventures, which means I have a few pictures to share...

So. We went to The Children's Museum of Evansville (cMoe), which was okay but didn't really appeal to my boys a lot. There were a bunch of nice activities for rather older kids, and a few fun little kid activities. And the scoop you see here. There was also a terrifying water activity room and a climbing structure that the decision-making boy wouldn't even look at. Oops. Maybe in a few years.

Mark helped Grandma make special cookies to measure how many days until we would go home and until Daddy comes home. Apparently someone forgot to tell him that three-year-olds are lacking very fine motor skills as he is completely adept at removing the cap from a bottle of food coloring, squeezing the right number of drops into the dough, and then putting the cap back on and turning on the mixer.

Oh yeah. And washing dishes.

And rinsing. Clearly Grandma was in charge of this activity. Actually, Mark was. Grandma was just doing what she was told. :)

The other news of note (no pictures included) was that we only had ONE bathroom accident the whole time we were there, and he only slept in a Pull-Up one night (clean). The only accident was when we didn't put him on the toilet one night in time. But. Wow. He's wearing big boy underwear to bed right now as we speak, AND in the car all the way home. Wow. I hate to make definitive statements about success or failure, but I'm pretty sure he'll start junior high completely toilet-skilled.

The other boy had a blast having Grandpa (also known as "DUM-pa", not to be confused with "DUM-pa", dump truck) around to play with. He walked around talking up a storm, playing with everything, trying everything out, not eating well (mm, shocker...), sleeping better thanks to the crib Grandpa found at a garage sale and paid for with real money... He had a lot of fun, too, and even gave Grandma some cuddles. Adam is nowhere the cuddler that Mark has always been, but he found a few big hugs for everyone while we were there.

And just in case you thought you'd seen enough cuteness...

Hey Ma, look at ME!

So it took a little while to share with you our Halloween joy...

We're still dealing with a computer issue here and there, I'm afraid. However, without further ado...

That's a firefighter, a dad, and a lion. You get to choose which is which.

Then we have the pumpkins...

Clearly, a backhoe. Done by Daddy.

A lion, done with a pattern, by Mommy. (Did I mention Daddy drew the backhoe FREEHAND?!?!)

Firefighter Mark is prepared to fight the fire, should it get out of control.

Said upon leaving the carwash (where he didn't cry, though his brother did):

"Toys don't get scared. Because they don't have faces."

Yesterday I played the role of the small-town resident. After a morning meeting at the Prairie, I dropped off a newsletter to be printed, and then, since the boys were with Daddy, decided to do a little shopping -- in my own downtown.

My first stop was the Noblesville Antique Mall, which this time, had items I wanted.

The Dunce almost got a "vintage" Noble Roman's Monster pitcher -- orange plastic, complete with feet -- except that I was concerned that in their new home, the Dunces may not have a suitable place for displaying it properly. (Dunce, if you think perhaps it would go perfectly in just the right spot, let me know; it might still be there if I go back.) I did find what I thougt to be a terrific Christmas gift for him. Yes. I'm shopping for gifts. Hey. I don't get out much to a place like this without kids.

The gift I found for Mrs. Dunce was actually at the same place as Mr. Dunce's, which made it easier for the person with the keys to the case. Now you know they're amazingly expensive items, being displayed in a locked case!

Once I was finished with that -- with a few oldey-timey photos because I like them so much -- it was off for lunch at the Logan Street Marketplace (a chicken curry sandwich and pasta salad) with a hot chocolate from Noble Coffee & Tea (conveniently located next door, with an entry between the two). Umm, yumm all around.

I visited the Logan Village Mall and wandered about -- there was one booth with a ton of cute little Christmassy things that I would never have a place for -- and saw one of my former Prairie youth friends and at least said hello.

Then I popped into The Wild for some nephew-shopping. No, not buying nephews. But Jonathan and Andrew MIGHT be getting presents from said store for Christmas...

I felt quite proud of myself for patronizing the fine businesses in our downtown. It was fun, the weather was nice, and I found some good stuff.

The dumpster's in the there
The dumpster's in the there
Hi-ho-the Derrière
The Dumpster's in the there

 

Knock Knock!

Who's there?

Apple!

Apple who?

Apple BOY!

Yes, Mark told that one from start to finish. Could you tell? The next person to make fun of me for my "baby didn't see the light" punchline is in trouble...

Yesterday during Sunday School I had to retrieve a teacher from Mark's class for a quick skit in church. When I peeked in, I saw Mark in the circle with the other children singing a song, his hands in front of him, side-by-side, palms up, fingers curled up, and I suspected he was making the familiar "Bible" motion.

So later, I asked him what song he sang with his hands like that.

In a slightly tuneless form, he sang:

The B-R-B-L-E
Yes That's the book for me
I stand alone on the Word of God
The B-R-B-L-E!

Then there was a little poem about the Bible verse, which I don't remember, but which he also nailed. (There was no spelling involved.)

Hurray! Mark is learning Sunday School songs! Thank you, Mrs. Day!

Hey gang, just in case you wondered, Mark's THREE now!

We spent the day celebrating his "birfday"...

 

Havin' some birthday cake (new birthday skid steer close at hand)...

Got a new tractor with disc attachment and wagon.

Got a car carrier. Got some books. Got a steam roller and a Bob the Builder and some puzzles and a tent...

Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Larry and Brian and Tara and Jonathan and Andrew were here. Daddy took a vacation day from work. It was a good time for all. Now the cousins are gone home, the boys are in bed, the dad and grandpa went off for a haircut, and I have a minute to blog. Sigh. Tired out. But happy birthday to the boy!

Mrs. Dunce was apparently disappointed that the photo I included showed none of her finery.

Of course I did it to spare her feelings, and to avoid pointing out that, though the Dunce says that her sister might have had an unusual smile as a child, we wouldn't know about the future Mrs. Dunce, since she chose not to smile for her photos. And so I offer you, the future Mrs. Dunce in her finery:

 

(my apologies for the photo quality; the scanner isn't hooked up, so I had to use the photograph-the-photo method.)

Sorry also for getting distract by this post and following the link it provided. Now back to my commentary.

And so. Now the photographic evidence of Mrs. Dunce's fashion at a young age...

 

 

Now I need to know what I owe Roberta-in-law (mother of Mrs. Dunce).

Amanda gets the big house...

While Heather-in-law is relegated to the hard life of a pioneer.

Even then, the future Mrs. Dunce was no fool. "She always did have champagne tastes!" says her mother. Which, of course, is why she hooked up with the Dunce in the end.

It may not be my fabulous silk -- gee, Roberta, what were you thinking in depriving your daughters??? ha ha -- but the pictures were a hoot, and the Noblesvillian and I agree the young ladies in question grew up just fine despite the shocking upbringing. Taking them to an olde tyme place! Dressing them in old clothes! SHOCKING!

I used to pride myself in being weird. Those of you who knew me when... (yeah, that's most of you) can attest to this.

Apparently, my kids are following in their mommy's footsteps.

This is baby Adam's mouth. Well, the side of it. I know, it looks brutal; I promise he wasn't as miserable as he looks.

If you look carefully on the left side of his mouth (top) -- his right -- you'll see a tooth. This, my friends, is Adam's first tooth. I thought when it emerged (started emerging, so it now seems) that is was the canine, or cuspid, tooth.

No. It has further emerged over the last month. I have located it on the chart (below) (borrowed from here). It corresponds with the letter B. Yup. That's the first molar.

He's working really hard on his top front teeth ("Central incisors"); one is all the way through, though still a sliver, and the other is mostly through. You can only see the edges of them.

Yeah. My kid's first tooth was his molar.

The Big Boy is off to school today, and Adam's in his nap, and I thought I'd document the moment:

Mark, with backpack and lunchbox, ready for a day of excitement!

Gee, Mom, can't you hurry up?

Finding the spot for his backpack.

What should I do first? Hmm. I think I see a car to play with!

Naturally, he was totally excited, though he told me on the way that if he missed mommy to "tell Mrs. 'Nita and Nicole." :) I'm am sure if he tells them, "I miss Mommy," they'll fall over in shock. (I will too.)

Now I'm waiting for the concrete mixer to arrive with the concrete for our new porch (same as the old one, except not sagging toward the house and without the monster front step). I have to document that so the boy who's at school can see all about it...

 

On our recent weekend trip to Grandma's House and Grandpa's House (as Mark calls it), Adam decided to butter up the ol' grandparents by doing something notable at their house. Besides getting two new front teeth (almost)...

and then...

.

Yup. That was by himself. And once he took a couple steps (from Grandpa to Mommy and back again), he suddenly took off, walking all over the living room and around behind the chairs so he could get to the electronic keyboard.

Yep. Adam can walk.

Today was Mark's first appointment with the dentist and he did a GREAT job!!!!

He got his teeth brushed and checked in a little office (not the big dental chair), sitting on my lap, and then when he got done, he got to go in the back and sit in the big dental chair and have his picture taken.

He also had his picture taken with the dentist, Dr. Chad.

(Yes, Dr. Chad is supposed to be old enough to practice dentistry. And there is a grown-up dentist in the office, too, with real gray hair, though we didn't see him. And just to the right on the counter there (that you can't see) is a picture of Dr. Chad and his family with three little kids, so apparently he is actually a grown-up.)

BUT. I digress. Mark was very very good. He didn't even act worried or like he was at all nervous. He opened his mouth up and did just what the hygienist and dentist told him and was just as good as could be! Oh, and he got an A+ for his great teeth!

 (Here he is pretending to open wide, since he'd already had his exam!)

(Name the source of the lyric and earn a reputation as a coooooooool person...)

I flicked a cicada off the window screen during breakfast so we could eat without having to look at a scary bug, and Mark looked at me and said, "Mommy, you're a hero!"

I'm glad he thinks so now.

 

In another story, he spent breakfast making up stories about "Grandma Crazy". I think she might be roughly based on another of his Grandmas, but only roughly.

What does she wear?
"Not a uniform!" (Turns out she wears only a diaper.)

Where does she live?
Docco, "not Kentucky" and Daddy's work.

What does she do?
"Not play with Mark. Cook. Fix supper." (I'd like it if she would just be my maid.)

What else does she do?
Plays on Mark's fort.

Does she have any pets?
A dog. A huuuuuge brown dog.

 

 A Little Boy got to join his mommy for a couple of hours at our olde tyme town. We were having a special Civil War weekend (a very quiet one, compared to the earlier one), and the Boss said young Master Adam could come by in his historical clothing.

He mostly wanted to just go watch the pigs (see the fence in the background).

He walked around with Mommy. He was cute and people loved him. He wasn't quite as outgoing as his brother was at his first visit to the Prairie in the same olde tyme clothes. (Remember?...

Mark with mommy, left, but taking of with Laura. P.S. He still likes Laura an awful lot, even though she's far far away.)

But he got to be cute, and he had fun, and he DID get to flirt with the girls from the Young Ladies Living History Society of Cincinnati, who were our guests at the event. He made a couple of particular friends from that group. Yeah, and he decided to hold hands with someone else's mommy -- not letting go of his own mommy at the same time -- and I thought maybe she'd have to join our family before it was all over. But he got to be cute and that was nice.

Author's Note: As a result of the below comment from Heather-in-law, I am willing to pay good cash money or prizes or admiration for photographic evidence of her and Mrs. Dunce in historical clothing of any level of cuteness. This offer should also be extended to the mother of the ladies in question.

Or... how many degrees of separation?

The other day I was visiting the blog of my friend Chuck (also linked on this page as Dr. Chuck Pearson). Chuck had cross-posted a piece that he'd posted on the site Growing Up Goddy.

I went to the site, and fully enjoyed all of the posts I read. Pretty cool site, and I've marked it in my favorites.

One of the sites linked on 'Goddy was Kamp Krusty. Naturally, with a name like that, I had to go see. The name of the fellow who writes the blog sounded a little familiar. It was made more familiar when I saw a reference to it on 'Goddy, where Chuck mentioned the guy's previous involvement with a band whose name I recognized. Ah-ha! I scrolled down Kamp Krusty's links to find what I expected: my brother darin. No, not my brother, his. Darin was the youth minister at the church I attended during my glorious year of employment in the field of my college major in a town quite far away though only one state away. He and his wife were a breath of fresh air -- and friendship -- until he took a job in Indianapolis and moved away. (Oh, and they let me use their house to do laundry while they were gone.) 

So I visited Darin's blog for a while, and came across on his blogroll a name that was also familiar, for different reasons. Brian Eberly is a pastor who sometimes visits -- and links to -- my brother The Thief (yes, this time it is my brother).

And My Brother The Thief links to me.

(I could make this longer by saying that my brother the thief links to Big Mama who then links to the Dunce who then links to me, but that's just making things complicated.)

The band that the Krusty guy was in, incidentally, was Farewell to Juliet. Tim mentions that he wrote a lot of newsletters for the Rose-Hulman chapter of InterVarsity to the music of Farewell to Juliet. So we've just drawn the Noblesvillian in, too.

 

Somebody had a birthday today! Here are a few pictures from the day, with more words when people aren't waiting for me to play a game...

Mark helps Adam unwrap some presents in the afternoon.

Yummy cake!

Fun presents, shared with fun friends.

Happy Birthday! We love you!

Hello Gentlemen, as Mark would say, and welcome to our newest destination, Fort Markadam!

 Dad has told the story on his own website. I will just embellish...

It was built by the Dad and the Grandpa, with a little help from Mark and dog.

There's a wall to climb...

and a slide to slide.

 (At the moment, there's even a Grandma to watch in amazement.)

There are fun swings for both boys.

And a spyglass to watch for tractors.

Won't you come to our fabulous destination?

 

I personally am not a big fan of the way the last couple of weeks have been going. The boys and I made a trip to one set of grandparents' in Kentucky (since most of my readers were actually there, this is not news), and  now the other set of grandparents is here, and the boys' tempers are very, very "off." Adam decides in mid-bite that he doesn't want to eat that anymore (whatever it is), and Mark screams and refuses to do anything. I think the excitement has them completely over-wrought. Add to it that Daddy and Grandpa M are building a swingset in the back yard, so I don't have much of a break. I know. I don't have a break when Daddy's off to work. But they don't act like this either...

And I have a hoop to finish before the 25th (before then, really) that is missing a bunch of parts. (Ericka, if you're reading this, do you know where they are?)

And a newsletter that I have to get done soon.

And donors to find and tickets to sell for a terrific event in September to raise money for Riley (anyone want to buy a ticket? They're only $5).

But the title refers to something else.

The first full day Grandma and Grandpa were here, Mark was in the yard and told them, "I'm not a fan of big bugs."

Yeah. Me neither.

No, we're not the latest in a series of "wrong person receives a credit card" stories...

We were at Grandma Skelly's house the other day and she had made a card for Mark and Adam. Later that evening, Mark got out the card and showed it to Grandma Sarah, who was visiting.

"I got a new card," he told her, showing it to her. "It's a MASTER CARD!"

Don't ask me who's paying the bills.

Mark pointed out to me that a nice lawn chair had been left outside in the rain, so I went to bring it in.
When I returned, he asked, "Are you a good helper, Mommy?"
I think I was.

Last night we were all happily sleeping when a really HUGE crash of thunder woke us. It woke Mark too, who screamed "DAAAAAAAA-DEEEEEEE! The thunder scared me!" I was proud of him for clearly articulating what the trouble was, especially in light of the other times he wakes up screaming and is incoherent.
Immediately upon Daddy's arrival in his room, he said, "Toy?"
I followed Daddy into the room. He was holding the trembling little guy (the thunder was really loud), who told me also that the thunder had scared him, and then he asked me for a toy. I thought he wanted a toy on his shelf or under his bed. "What toy do you want?" I asked, expecting the typical "Mommy pick" or whining.
"James," he answered without hesitation.
Here it's the middle of the night, he's just been scared out of his wits, and he knows exactly which toy he wants.

Now, mind you, the little brother slept through all the hubbub -- the lightning and thunder and accompanying screaming and shouting. Good little sleeper (this time). Actually, he'd already been up twice in the night before this happened. So it was all good.

Speaking of the little brother, Adam can now walk by himself with his little walking toy. He loves it, and loves to go back and forth across the living room with it. He just laughs and laughs. He walks until he crashes into something immovable, and then (usually) waits until I turn him and the toy around, then goes back. Back and forth, back and forth. There are lines in the carpet, sort of like the ones the vacuum cleaner or Roomba leave, except without the benefit of it being clean now. Oh well. (This toy we got free from a neighbor when Mark was learning to walk. He loved it, too.)

I also am the hero as I cleaned out the Noblesvillian's car last night. He was worn out, so I took on one task. In cleaning, I found a few lost items and put a few other things back into useful places (the car registration, not just sitting in the back seat, for example). AND -- the Noblesvillian is such a hero, because he managed to repair the gas-tank door, which has been broken since winter! I am always nervous when he takes apart things that a factory put together (like a car), but he popped off a few pieces of trim and got the piece out that opens the trunk and the gas tank door, and fixed it! Hurray! Now if only that jerk at his work hadn't dinged his door (he knows which car is yours...), it would be as good as new. :)

Oh. The other random story I sent to some of you already.

A few weeks ago, Mark and I were playing outside and he kept talking about the tractor coming to our field (behind our house) to harvest the wheat. I kept telling him, "No, not yet, but soon."
Actually, the tractor was in the neighboring fields; by the end of the day, our field was harvested.
Some days later, Mark and Daddy were at home and Mark informed Daddy that the tractor was in the field with the seed drill.
"Okay, buddy, whatever you say..." (You hate to contradict the boy who is certain.)
Yesterday I noticed green growing in between the rows of harvested wheat. I went to check. Soybeans. Darn if he wasn't right.
According to our friend Greg, who is a big-brain for Pioneer, "The wheat harvest was earlier than normal this year so lots of the farmers around here are trying to 'double-crop' soybeans this summer. This rain is just what they needed too, so with more heat this summer, they should get a good second crop by October."

Greg also complimented him, saying he was a smart kid, and most people wouldn't have a clue about such things...I have to admit that the kid's MOTHER would be among those who wouldn't have a clue... (And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what you get when you let your kid read books, the darn things!)

First of all, it's happened. I've threated for several years to do this in some form or another (at one point threatening to get it for Big Mama and then ask to use it a lot) but now it's happened...

Gertie has become a part of my home. A lady in town had a whim and bought her a couple years ago and hasn't used her. She's advertised her in the paper a few times; finally, today, I saw her in the classifieds. $30 beats regular prices of close to $200, I think. So if it's just a whim for me, well, I'm not out that much...

And. Just when you thought it was safe to ask questions...

The other night I called Mark in for supper. As he came in from the family room, where he'd been playing with trains, he said, "I need a new diaper." (sort of like Grandpa disappearing into the bathroom when Grandma called us all for supper when we were kids and they were "dad" and "mom".)
"You do?" I asked, surprised that he'd even mention it. Usually he doesn't care.

"I can't sit in my chair with a nasty ol' yucky diaper while I eat," he replied. Duh.

Oh. Yeah. And Adam can go up the stairs.

Yup. Up the stairs. All the way up. (I'm not that bad of a mom -- I was right behind him. After about three stairs.)

Can you imagine my surprise at hearing those words, just out of the blue? Perhaps you can imagine that I could imagine why I was hearing them.

A few moments earlier, Mark pointed out that some of his trucks weren't put away. This morning was not a good morning. Many things got put away when he went on a rude spree, disobeying the Mom, ignoring her, not taking turns with Adam, and, finally, kicking Adam in the face when he tried to use his brother to stand up. Like I said, many things got put away.

So when he pointed out that some of his trucks didn't get put away, I reminded him of why the others were. And that he needed to do things when Mommy tells him to.

So I checked a couple of blogs, went in to stir supper (Chef Jenny conquers Hamburger Helper), and came back, and, with angelic eyes and voice, he approached me.

"I'm sorry, Mommy."
"For what?" I asked.
"For being dis-'bedient," he replied.
"Thank you."
"I want the trucks back."

What? You mean that wasn't just a heart-felt apology brought on by true remorse and that's all?

"May I have the dump truck?"

"May I have the bucket truck?"

He gets Doggy back if he's nice the rest of the evening.

Pastor Mom tagged me on this a couple days ago. After the computer ate my first work-in-progress, I finally finished it.

Enjoy...

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

So… My random things…

1.      I love to write when my brain lets me. My novels, all hard to categorize except under the heading “Jenny’s”, will probably never be published, but I write them for my own amusement. And they’re all better than The Enigmatic Fugue, the grand piece of literary brilliance several of us started many years ago, inspired by, well, a "great" author. (I still have it, in case anyone wants to resurrect it.)

2.      I have a compulsion to finish books once I start reading them. I almost never put one down without finishing it. But this week I did. I found this book so dreary, depressing, and dull that I gave up. I didn’t care what happened to these down-on-their-luck characters. Sorry Oprah.

3.      When I can’t sleep, I organize my thoughts alphabetically… verses and sayings, songs and song lyrics, names and adjectives. Most of the time I don’t get past the middle of the alphabet.

4.      Anyone who knows me very well already knows this, but I have a serious mistrust of the telephone. I don’t call people. It doesn’t even cross my mind to call people. If I think of it, I might do it, but I don’t. Is it because Big Mama has always hated the phone? Is it because The Dad carefully itemized the phone bill and charged us for any calls (plus tax and fees), meaning we had to admit when we’d called someone, which was more embarrassing if it was a boy (egads!)? Is it just because I’m a freak? Only the phone knows, and it’s not telling. (And this is why the pay-as-you-go mobile is a good idea for me. Except for the weird text messaging issue.)

5.      Yes, it’s true, my favorite stuffed animal that I had to sleep with every night for many many years was named after my brother (the Thief). Baby Brian was actually a series of stuffed animals, originally dogs (sans plastic collars and ears, which I immediately ripped off), but ultimately a ratty bear-ish animal that lasted some eight years.

6.      My favorite ice cream is raspberry fudge cordial. It is yummy. The Thief can attest to that, too, as can Mrs. Thief, and now that Big Mama can eat ice cream again, I’ll take her to Alexander’s and get her some, too.

7.      My favorite sound is hearing Mark and Adam laughing in the car, usually when we’re driving on a hilly road. The benefit of one facing front in his carseat and the other facing the rear is that, in effect, they sort of face each other and egg each other on. Fortunately for now, that’s to laugh more. When they’re up to no good, they won’t be in baby seats anymore (I hope).

8.      No thanks to sandy beaches; I like shores strewn with boulders. Preferably with woods along them, too. And water that’s doing something, not just sitting there. (Sandy beaches just have sand that sticks to your feet – a nod to the Thief and his opinions – and creepy things living in them. Don’t tell me anything about rocks; I have already imagined the things living in the crevasses.)

Okay. Who do I tag? I don’t usually have eight people to send on these errands. Repressed Librarian is already doing this over at her place. I’m fake-tagging her because my list is short. J
Big Mama, of course, gives you a reason to gratuitously talk about yourself. 
Thief, if you have nothing better to do
Andrea, who is still in hiding – I mean, your 2-year-old is out of the country right now! Stop the partying and do this one! J
Baby J! Your mom tagged me!
(Add yourself to the list if you want to do this! Just leave me a comment so I know to keep an eye on you…)

is what I asked Mark this morning.

He suggested (as if expecting me to say, "oh, not today, but sometime...") "Go the Children's Museum?"

I said, "Okay!"

Adam played with some blocks and stuff.

Mark drove the skid steer (which he was looking forward to before we even got there. "'Member the skid steer, Mommy?").

We all rode giraffes on the carousel. (Well, two of us. The third held the smaller one on and tried to convince him it was fun.)

And Mark played pretend, making an ice cream treat at the soda fountain and fishing in the water.

 

Adam the mighty crawler has discovered that he can open the cabinet doors. This one is the one we let him get into.

Hmm. He reaches in.

and in...

and in.

He closes the door.

He opens it again, and then looks to make sure I'm still watching.

Pretty soon there's a nice array of Gladware spread across the floor. And the enameled bowls that Mrs. Dunce so wishes I had found again so she'd have some now.

and finally, he comes over to check in and make sure I'm still enthralled.

This afternoon when I went to get a certain Adam out of bed, this is what I found.

Yes, that is a happy boy!

And then there's the creative one...

After biting a hole in the lunchmeat and peeking through it (all that's missing is "Look what I got at the turkey farm!"), he built a boat. Hmm. Must be my kid. He was quite proud of it, I might add.

We're back from our week's vacation at Lakeside, Ohio. The kids had a wonderful time playing together -- and we had a great time, too. The house we were in was just terrific, and the town is really nice. :)

We played in the park, rode the bikes -- I don't have a picture of Mark on the back seat of the bike, which he liked, but I do have Andrew and Adam in the trailer. Which one didn't like it?

He did a little better with the wagon. He also did better in the trailer later on.

Mark loved playing in the sandbox at the park and spending time with Jonathan. They play so nicely together, sharing and all that.

We also got to make a trip to the legendary Kelley's Island, namesake of the Kelley Island cake, much beloved by the clan in 1886 Liberty Corner at my museum. We rode bikes over to the ferry and then spent the day (sans kids, thanks to Tara) riding around, seeing scenery, having a good time all around. These are the Glacial Grooves at Kelley's Island State Park.

 

And we made another bike ride (all 8 of us) to Marblehead Light, just up the road...

 

More stories on Tim's blog; see them here.

Mark came in and asked me to sing the Shoo Fly song. I had to look it up. And the tune. But before I did, I offered "Shoo fly..." to which he responded "Don't bovver me". Oh. Guess he knows it.

We looked up, sang it a couple hundred times. Now he's singing "Shoo fly, don't bovver me, for I'm going to your house today." (Hmm, Zaccheus would be pleased.)

In other news, Adam can now travel on his belly like a little wiggly snake. I took some video, which, when the computer gets back the way it oughta be, maybe I'll post. It's super cute. Also, we're practicing "Ma ma ma ma" since he has "Da da da da" pretty well down.

And I am the domestic goddess (have I mentioned that lately) as I completely cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floors on hands and knees. I think that's a once in a decade sort of thing...

There are a dozen other things I keep being going to blog about but can't seem to get in front of the computer to do it...

Why don't I like computers?

One reason would be because after Tim did a major backup of the OTHER computer that was going quite awry, sometime during the night, Windows did an update and restarted (without asking anyone for permission) and it couldn't restart and now it's dead, and, oh yeah, the major backup died too.

So.

Our pictures are backed up somewhere else. There was a major backup done some time ago. Current projects are excluded as the most recent backup is dead. And Tim has to spend the day (week? month?) rebuilding the bad computer.

But I made a bonnet from scratch for Civil War weekend -- my friend Linda will look great in it! See, these oldey-timey things don't go nuts on you. They might be hard, but when you put it down for the night, it just sits there.

The corset doesn't break itself.

The hoop doesn't shut down.

The dress doesn't tear itself.
Sigh.

Yesterday I put a lot of work into making a map of our backyard, putting permanent green marker the things that are destined (for whatever reason) to stay, like the fence, the house, the honkin' huge maple tree that pretty much takes over the south end of the yard (and thus, most of the sunshine)... Then I highlighted the things that I want to take out, and made a list of tasks needed to accomplish the closer-to-perfect backyard.

Last night, after hubby put kids to bed and I mowed the grass and took a shower, we sat down to look over that drawing, and the second one, that had the permanent items in it and space to draw in with pencil some of our ideas. I got a little bent out of shape when, instead of saying, "wow, honey, you did a nice job on this. I can see what you want to do and some great places to start," he asked what my priorities were. I had thought I had highlighted them, but apparently there were too many, and he wanted something a little more attainable.

"These are my priorities," I told him, gesturing to the highlighted page (back landscaping, timbered area behind the back porch, stump in the north end of the yard, maple tree in the center [not the huge one], lilac bush, mess in the corner by the kitchen window...okay, maybe that was a lot...).

What was it about pride in the fall? But it's spring!

This morning I was checking blogs after Mark had finished breakfast and he gleefully came in to show me that he'd "painted" his trash truck. That's weird, I thought. His markers are "color wonder," which means they only color on special paper. And it's yellow, but the marker on his hand is green, just like....

YIKES!

The papers were still on the living room floor. With the markers.

They are moved to the table for this photo. Note the coloring through the center holes on both pages. The one on the left got colored through to the clipboard. The other made the tiniest green smudge on the carpet by the couch, not discernable unless you're on your knees looking for it.

And the worst thing is, it's all my fault. In what world is it a good idea to leave your yard plans on the floor with a couple of markers????????

Proverbs 16:18 (New International Version)
18 Pride goes before destruction,
       a haughty spirit before a fall.

P.S. Mark did NOT get in trouble for this. Once again, whose fault is it???

 

 

(or at least Big Mama's)

(Two Cousins, already good buddies)

(All the boys playing nicely together!)

We've been busy being outside, going to Ohio, working... I'll write more when I don't have kids all around, but I've been feverishly reading Civil War info for an event at work in May, and it was garage sale weekend this past (got nothing except 6 pants for Mark)... Oh, and Adam's teething and his ears have been hurting, too, and did I mention I've been working?

Tim took this picture a couple weeks ago when I was gone to something-or-other...

You really are a builder all the way.

Mark shows which side of the feud he's on in this little peek into our house.

Please note that the hammer is tucked in the side of his diaper for ease in carrying and for quick access.

Somebody's either watched too much of this

or this:

 

 

 

a lot of my friends in blog land are quiet right now. Andrea's laptop has been on the fritz, The Thief's going into Holy Week [except I just checked and he has two new entires...], MB's all about the Lady Volunteers in the big game, Ruth and Tara are retiring, Angela's swamped, The Dunce just bought a new house, Chuck's clammed up [yeah, he's got a new one, too], Big Mama got new floors.

Just in case you're wondering, *I'm* still here. And so are the boys.

Today everyone was up before 8, which is unusual, but since I've been having trouble getting Mark up before 8:30, I went with it. Things were downright normal around here, with only a little screaming and tantrum-throwing. There was some playing in the porch (the back porch, which we went into something like twice since we moved here, up until Mark discovered he could play in it...), and some general fun.

Mark found his new hat, a gift from Pastor Doug (he's guy on the right). I told him we'd have to make him a thank-you note for it, and he said, "O-kay! Let's GO!" and ran in to his art table. While he was coloring a picture, he said, "Fank you John Deere hat!" [*Yes, Big Mama, he even gets the idea of the thank-you note!!!!!]

So. A thank-you note (with an accompanying note from me about the fun of making this, and a print of this photo) is in the mailbox -- Mark even got to take it out and put it in the box -- waiting for the mail carrier to come pick it up and take it off to Pastor Doug.

After that, he drew with markers for a while and then painted -- wearing his new paint jacket even. That had to be more supervised, so those pictures aren't on the computer yet. But I thought I ought to let you know that I'm still here...

After getting up frightfully early starving and stuffed up, Adam went back to sleep yesterday until...well, blissfully late. I was getting laundry out of the dryer when Mark heard Adam start to make noise and announced, "Mark check on Adam!" and ran upstairs.

When I arrived upstairs, Mark was standing on the rail of Adam's bed, holding onto the top and peeking over, and Adam was chirping gleefully at his brother. Mark proudly told me that he had checked on Adam.

Fast-forward to breakfast time. Mark, having already eaten, had disappeared to the living room to play. Adam happily ate a good large portion of barley cereal, and then I let him sit in his high chair and gobble Cheerios while I dashed in to check my email.

Mark, ever the helper, returned. "Mark help!" he said. Then, "Need more!" (I should have been in there, then, but was dealing with an issue...) Then, "Uh-oh, 'pilled!" That was finally enough to get me to come in and check.

Mark had decided that Adam needed more food. He had climbed up on my chair at the table, gotten the barley cereal box, and dumped (as opposed to "poured") a great deal of cereal into the small bowl from which I'd fed Adam earlier. Then he'd taken the small cup of water we keep on hand to mix the cereal and poured what was left of it into the bowl. It didn't turn it into yumminess, as there wasn't enough (hence the "need more"). And more barley cereal didn't solve the problem, either, but made it a bit worse by spilling on the table (hence "'pilled").

"Oh NO!" I said as I discovered the situation. "Mark, Adam doesn't need to eat more! I already fed him."
Mark began to cry. "Bed!" he sobbed.
Then I stopped. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. I shouldn't have left these things out, and you just wanted to help. I can clean it up, and everything'll be just fine."

I apologized to him for having left things out and thanked him for wanting to help. I hugged and kissed him and sent him off to play while I cleaned up. The still-dry cereal flakes went into a plastic container to save for later (somewhere in the area of HALF THE BRAND-NEW BOX), while the little wet glob in the bottom, Adam got to have for lunch.

(I took the pictures to prove to him that he wasn't in trouble. It took some convincing.)

We turned it off for a couple of days. This was mostly because I wanted to throw open the windows and let the outside in and didn't want to risk it getting down to 66 in here and kicking the furnace on. I wanted the inside to match the glorious outside...

The past two days were beautiful. The temperatures were in the 70s even. It was glorious. We spent a lot lot (as Mark would say) of time outside -- trips to the park, playing on the front porch, playing in the back porch, playing in the backyard in completely waterlogged sand, going for walks and playing with Corbin (the super-nice 8-year-old across the street)...

This morning we got up early (well, someone else has been having a little adjustment issues with DST) for music class and it was not glorious anymore. I mean, it is March, after all. Yesterday was 77. This morning (and still now, at noon) it's 37. And I had to turn the furnace back on.

Why is it that even though the furnace has been running all winter long, when it takes a couple of days off, it smells dusty?

After a couple weeks of only liking cereals -- rice, barley, and oatmeal -- today Adam decided to try a change.

After a milk-lunch a little earlier (and a power nap on the way home) he ate 2 bowls of barley cereal, about a cup of Cheerios (one at a time), a third of a #2 container of sweet potatoes (previously greeted with a decided lack of enthusiasm), and about a third of a #2 jar of peas (previously rejected).

He would have continued eating Cheerios indefinitely had I not decided he'd had enough and washed face and hands and taken off the rather soiled bib.

Hey, Mom, why don't these Cheerios come off like the ones on the tray do?

turn this on by himself now. (It's the Fisher Price Ocean Wonders Aquarium, older style.)

Every morning this week, Daddy has heard noises from Adam's room before Mommy is even out of bed. Several times he's asked me if I went in and turned on Adam's music. I have not.

This toy hangs on the side of his crib. He has learned how to flap his little arm around sufficiently to hit the blue button and turn it on. He loves it, and if he's turning it on at 7 a.m. but I don't have to get up and feed him until 7:30 (or later), it's even better... Especially since this week we haven't had to get up in the night either. (Deep sigh, hoping it lasts.)

In other news, it's been four days since Mark said goodbye to the last pacifier, and he might actually be napping today (for the first time all week). It's quiet up there. I just took Adam to his room, and Mark's room was quiet. It's not been the best week ever. Sigh. Auntie Mel got to witness the chaos yesterday.

This morning, a certain young boy I know got up and held out his last beloved pacifier to me, telling me "Dirt, holes in it. Throw trash. Mark throw trash."

He had been warned that this was the last one, and when it got holes in it (I can't figure out how, when I catch him gnawing on it...), it would have to go in the trash.

Okay, I told him. If it's time, it's time. He took the pacifier and dashed down the hall to the bathroom. I had to deter him from tossing it in the "terlet" (yes, that's how he says toilet) and direct him toward the trash can. He looked into the wastebasket, looked at the pacifier, commented again on the holes, and dropped it in.

Now it's naptime. He asked for pacifier when I put him down, after whining about different music and a different toy. I told him the pacifier was all gone, that he'd thrown it away. He didn't complain about it further.

I had horrors of him going off to college with the pacifier. He's only had it at night for most of his life (not during the day and certainly not when we're out somewhere), but I could imagine the first night in the freshman dorm, Mark pops out the pacifier before bed. All the other freshman boys laugh. Mark earns the nickname "Nuk" or "Binky" or something like that (despite the fact that we've always called it "Pacifier"). When he gets his first engineering job (or bulldozer-driving job, or farming job, depending), the guys all think it's a funny name, and when he retires 50 years later, they're all still calling him Binky.

I do like, though, that it seems to have been his decision. We just have to help him live with it.

We have new pictures posted (get it, newpics on newpics??) of the boys. If you didn't get an email telling you about it...

http://newpics.org/gallery/albums/41.aspx

Come see us!

Adam is six months old today! It has been a very fun half-year. Mark suggested (yesterday) that we should have cake. We did not. Adam did get to try carrots, though. His first outing with the carrots was positive, but then he spit out the rice cereal, then cried. We'll have to wait to see what he thinks of the world tomorrow. But. That crying incident was the only time he cried all day. He had such a happy day. :) He went right to bed for his naps and woke up happy. After his afternoon nap, I left him in his bed, gave him a toy and turned on the light while I did some putting-away (clean clothes, outgrown clothes, blankets) and tidying, and he was as happy as could be. Good kid.

Mark is working on potty training. He's pottying very nicely in the toilet, but #2 isn't going so well yet, which is normal and okay with me, really. We have offered him a "prize" when he goes "poopy" in the potty. He has lots of good ideas about when he should get this prize, and has even made a suggestion about what it should be:

Yesterday:
"Prize. Ladder truck, maybe? Maybe. Ladder truck."

Today:
"Prize. Sixty dollars."

I could not believe my little ears. Did he just suggest SIXTY DOLLARS for going poop in the potty?!?! I asked, "Sixty dollars?" He laughed and laughed and said, "Prize, sixty dollars." I couldn't help it and laughed and laughed. He also laughed and laughed.

Getting this kid to use the toilet for his bodily functions is going to be costly indeed. (I should have agreed to the ladder truck yesterday.)

Jonathan -- or someone else, since Mark informed me that he is Jonathan -- left his friend Spot here after a weekend visit. Mark (Jonathan? I'm not sure...) was very concerned that his best friend get 'Pot back just as soon as possible (or sooner, really), so we packed the little guy (Spot, not Mark/Jonathan) into a box, and this morning after my allergy shot, went off to the post office to "Mail 'Pot" (which my son had been reminding me all morning).

There was quite a line. Adam sat in his car seat looking around at all the people, and Mark mostly stayed nearby, but sort of edged around people in line to look at some of the cool things the post office has for sale -- little toy mail boxes, mail trucks, pretty packaging, etc.

Mark was exceedingly good as we waited, and glad that we were going to "mail 'pot". Just a little before our turn, a lady who had been at the counter came back toward us instead of heading for the exit. In her hand, she held a toy mail truck -- one of the ones Mark had been admiring earlier.

She handed it to me, saying, "This is for him," and then walked off through the exit as quickly as her surgical-booted feet and cane could take her, but not before Mark said a very soft and awe-filled "Fank you" to her.

We mailed Spot and went on to Grandma Skelly's, and Mark proudly showed her the truck. On the way home, he didn't talk, he didn't point out all the trucks, tractors, diggers, trailers, and other exciting things we passed because he was too busy playing with his new truck. He discovered how to open both side doors and the rear door as well (which Grandma and I thought didn't open). He also took it to bed for his nap.

So. While it cost almost as much to mail Spot as he cost new -- that doesn't count the excessive sentimental value attached, which I cannot criticize, having owned a string of precious stuffed "Baby Brians" -- we were paid back and then some by some nice lady inflicting upon us a random act of kindness.

(Oh, yeah, when we said prayers for lunch, later, we thanked God for the nice lady and asked Him to bless her. Okay, I did, but Mark said "Mail truck". He was thinking of her too.)

Dear America's Test Kitchen (and all my friends, in case Christopher Kimball doesn't have my blog bookmarked yet):

On your suggestion, we asked for and received the Victorinox Chef's Knife for Christmas. Lately, I've been cooking more -- perhaps because I have a good knife -- and I even bought a bag of onions, more than half of which I have already used. Generally more than half rot before I get to them. But I've always hated cutting onions because my eyes water so dreadfully when I do. Except they don't anymore. Have I gotten tougher, or does having a good knife make cutting onions not only easier (you should have seen my fine dice today), but also less eye-watering?

Dear This Old House:

I love your show and your magazine. So does my 2-year-old. When we read your magazine, he looks for the spot where the stars of the show are pictured, then points to each one so I can identify each in turn: Norm Abram, Tom Silva, Kevin O'Conner, Rich Trethewey, Roger Cook, and then he repeats each name. Rich Trethewey, he doesn't do so well with. Norm, he has down pat. Anyway. Yesterday he pointed to the word "Healthy Care" imprinted on the front of his baby brother's high chair and said, "House. Old House." Not only did he announce the magazine name when I got my most recent issue (recognizing it from the show), but he picked out the "H" on the high chair. Now he knows that "H is for 'House'." He's quite proud. If only he could replace the kitchen floor and wire in some new outlets with what he's learned from you guys.

Dear Waste Management:

My son also loves your trucks. He only knows two letters right now (sometimes three), and the first that he learned was W. "Trash truck!" Unfortunately, he thinks that "Trash truck" starts with W, I think. So, while I'm enthusiastic about my kid's affection for your trucks and your WM logo, do you think you could change it to "TT" for Trash Truck or something?

Sincerely,
Your Friend Jenny

I made another 30-minute recipe last night, though this one was not out of Cook's Illustrated's book I used before but off the internet, and I have some observations about them and their relationship with me and my home.

1. Decent 30-minute recipes take that much hands-on time. Yes, it's done at the end of that time, but they require that time to be spent in front of the stove and prep counter, working. They work a lot better when someone else is around to look after the kids. Or PBS Kids, in a pinch. Mark is getting to think "Between the Lions" is pretty funny. Grandmas and Grandpas are entirely preferable. The time Tim's folks were here, it was easy to do the 30-minute recipes because no one bothered me, and the kids had someone to play with!

2. Decent 30-minute recipes need to be planned for ahead of time. How often do I have all of those ingredients around the house? Last night I just happened to have a can of artichoke hearts sitting around (purchased at Thanksmasgiving time and forgotten when we intended to use them). I balk at menu-planning (I HATE IT) but it would make it more likely that I would have the stuff on hand.

3. Decent 30-minute recipes need to be served when they're done. It sort of spoils the effect of a lovely Lemon-Artichoke chicken with fettuccini to sit around for an extra half an hour. But a 2-year-old (who liked the corn better -- yes, he ate more veggies) can't wait until 6:30 to eat (nor can his borderline hypoglycemic mommy), and his daddy can't teleport home from work.

For these reasons, you can be assured that, while rather more elaborate recipes will make appearances at my house, meals that involve ground beef and some tomato product and a decent amount of time ignored are not to be forgotten.

[In a completely unrelated side note, yesterday Mark showed off some great counting skills again:
"One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six...
Nine, Ten...
Elijah...
Fourteen!"
He was very proud of himself. I was amused...]

Or something. See below for the end of the day... :)

This morning saw me cleaning the dishwasher, though after a few scrubs with some Soft Scrub and a gentle scrubber, I decided I didn't want to be crawling around the kitchen all day and filled a coffee cup with white vinegar, set the empty dishwasher to wash itself, and voila! a clean dishwasher.

While the boys and I played downstairs, Roomba swept the upstairs hall and the boys' rooms, leaving that carpet clean and neat. We put Adam to bed and brought Roomba down and I spent the next 20 minutes or half an hour cutting all the gunk off Roomba's brush and roller, getting it all cleaned out. People with long (or long-ish) hair should not be allowed to live in houses, is all I have to say on that.

Now there are two boys in bed, a pot roast in the crock pot (with veggies, too, of course) and I am marveling in what turns out to be the way knives are supposed to work.

After a rather unfortunate experience at Thanksgiving time in which my Dunce and his wife (Mrs. Dunce) revealed to me that, no, knives aren't really supposed to be that hard to operate, we decided perhaps the ones we were using weren't the best. So when Tim's mom asked what we wanted for Christmas, he had the thought to suggest a new chef's knife.

Our friends at Cook's Illustrated and the ever-beloved (by me) America's Test Kitchen tell me that in their tests the only one that is "Highly Recommended" is the "$30 upstart", Forschner Victorinox Fibrox Chef’s Knife
$25.33
FROM THEIR WEBSITE: "Comments: One tester summed it up: “Premium-quality knife at a bargain price.” Knives costing four times as much would be hard pressed to match its performance. The blade is curved and sharp; the handle comfortable. Overall, “sturdy” and “well balanced.”"

And so, we now have a nice little -- um, not little. Very big and scary -- chef's knife, and I tried it out today to chop vegetables for my roast. I don't do much, to be honest. Just boring little me. Onions and potatoes, and toss in some already chopped and peeled baby carrots.

I was able to actually chop the onions the way they do on America's Test Kitchen, which seems to be an easy way to get small pieces. Cut the onion in half, trimming the top and cutting through the bottom. Then slice horizontally (parallel to the cut side) a couple of times, then chop from top to bottom, then slice parallel to the bottom. Lo and behold, nice chopped onion, no cut fingers.

But the potatoes were really impressive. Remember if you will the struggle with the old chef's knife (destined for the garbage, or maybe Goodwill, for someone with more strength than finesse). Slicing and chopping the potatoes was so easy it felt like I was cutting through butter. Really. I am a happy gal.

I wanna go chop more stuff now, please...

While I crow, I even studied the Bible Study lesson and journaled for next week's study, and Mark ate as much of the beef -- AND VEGETABLES, GOBBLED THEM DOWN, I TELL YOU, including the carrots that he has in the past avoided like Black Death -- as I did.

And Adam cried from somewhere about 2 p.m. until 5 something, stopping crying to eat, and while Mark watched some PBS Kids show while I finished the gravy. 20 minutes tops. He is now trying to take that nap he was supposed to have gotten earlier. And just whimpering, not full-out screaming. Just in case I get too big-headed and super-mom-ish...

One.

Yes, one.

We have an interesting relationship with a local (chain) pizza restaurant whose name will remain unrevealed to protect the innocent, incompetent, injured or inept. It's not uncommon to have bad service or bad food or both. We never (or almost never) think of it as it comes to mind to go there to enjoy dinner, but it's really best to 1. have low expectations and 2. not be in too much of a hurry when we go to eat there. Up until last summer we'd eaten there several times and never paid for the entire meal thanks to extremely slow service, wrong orders being brought to our table, or Tim's thin-crust pizza being disgustingly overcooked (more than once).

Then last summer we got Joshua as our waiter and our trend was broken. He was quick. He was not quite excruciatingly polite, but nearly. He put in, received, and brought us the correct order. He was appropriately dressed (no underwear showing) and clean (you think that's not that big of a deal???). And we paid full price. (And left a good tip.)

Reasonable service prevailed the next couple of visits. Perhaps things had changed.

We stopped over at our favorite pizza location Friday night for a little dinner. We waited what seemed like forever to even have a hostess appear so that we could be seated. Our waitress (pierced, lisp-y, but sweet and helpful) took our order. Tim chased down a booster seat for the boy. People fussed over our adorable children. We asked for and received silverware. Waitress arrived with our pizzas. Well, with mine, and an incorrectly made thin-crust for Tim (wrong toppings). Waitress was well aware of the wrong pizza having been made and apologized, telling us we could have this incorrect one (Mark wasn't one to argue) and that Tim's correct order had been put in, no charge, of course, and was there anything else she could get Tim to make up for it? Salad bar? Breadsticks? Tim asked about a dessert pizza. Really, Tim's not going to eat that much, and his pizza being late was probably the person's pizza being late that would be the least disruptive (that was an awkward construction, granted, but you get the idea). Mark was starving from never having eaten any food ever before in his life, and while there weren't being any hypoglycemic moments for me, yet, you just have to watch out. (I'd have taken the breadsticks AND the salad bar...) Sure, waitress agreed, she'd put in an order for a dessert pizza. And Tim's actual pizza would be on its way out soon.

Tim's pizza arrived shortly (incidentally, Mark ate three pieces of pizza to Tim's two). Then came the dessert pizza. Then came three boxes to take them all home in, and the check.

We paid for one medium pizza (mine) and two drinks (Tim's and Mark's).

And a tip for the waitress.

What a deal.

Baptism day went off without a hitch; more pictures will be posted soon. Pastor Wade did not do the quick and careless job I dreamed about a couple nights before, and Adam's godparents did make it after all (also unlike my dream) -- though "someone" might have gotten out of the house in her sandals instead of her church shoes (but Grandma AJ saved the day by trading since Tara would have looked a little less than formal up there in her red adidas shoes... I mean "someone").

You say you're not sure if Adam and Mark look a great deal alike? Think maybe Adam might look a little more like Mommy or something?

Hmmm.
Who are those cute boys? Every time I start thinking Adam looks less like Mark than I originally thought, he goes and pulls something like this on me.

More later.

Happy New Year!

We had our last (probably) round of Christmas-present festivities today with Grandma AJ and Grandma Marv (no, they're really a traditional couple, but for some reason Mark keeps forgetting to call him "Grandpa"). Mark had to wait and wait and wait to open the presents that appeared under the tree during his nap; finally I could take it no longer and he helped me gather them into a basket so he didn't have to keep staring at them. Only then could he start playing with his cars and toys and such instead of worrying when Daddy and Grandma would be home from the store and we could open them.

Adam sat happily with Grandma for a while, and then with Grandpa, sucking on tags, his fist, his bib, other people's fingers... whatever he could get into his mouth. He missed his second afternoon nap, so intent he was on the goings-on.

I failed to keep a decent list of which of Grandma's friends which gift came from (bad me), but suffice it to say, cute CDs, cute coloring books, cute outfits for Adam... Tim's aunt Estee supplied a bear for the baby that's about as big as he is... Mark wanted to read every book as he got it and color with every crayon before moving on to the next item.

Then I was off to the kitchen for my first foray into The Best 30-minute Recipe from America's Test Kitchen: Quick Maple-Glazed Pork Chops. Yes, it took 30 minutes, and yes, it was reallllly yummy. I also really went all-out and opened a bagged salad, complete with sliced almonds and cranberries and its own dressing. But the focus was truly the pork. The glaze was sweet and tangy with just a hint of heat (1/8 tsp. cayenne), and the pork was cooked just the way it oughta be. Well, it should be; they've tested it so I don't have to, isn't that what they say???

Dessert was a berry pie that I made this afternoon. To bed early so I can look alert and happy and well-rested for Adam's big day tomorrow. (I also have two more recipes to try from the book while Grandpa and Grandma are here. More on those later...)

It's the time when I go to my parents' house and go through some boxes from their attic and whittle away at the masses of things I have stored there for another time...

When I arrived, I had 10 boxes in the attic. The parents have a system of filing cards that number each box and tell roughly what's in it. There's also a clever map of the attic. Dad agreed to bring down the six specified boxes. [Thanks Dad ("If it weren't for you, I'd still be scraping skid marks off the Prickly Heat World Ministries Waterslide...").]

I came home with two, one rather solidly full of like-sized things that fit well, and one rather jumbled. Dad acquired another box of "goodies" for ebay or Goodwill. Three empty cartons remained behind. Nothing went back into the attic. Oh yeah, and three garbage bags were waiting for Mr. Phelps (the garbage hauler) to take away.

Yes there were some goodies to be found. A selection of fine items that may be familiar to some of my blog readers is below. Do you recognize anything? Test yourself before enjoying the tales below...

Clockwise from top left:

Headband from camp at Rainbow Christian Camp, circa 1989; Lieutenant Legg, a food fighter, Christmas in the 1980s; t-shirt, Prom 1990; Scrimshaw, fall semester 1988; nametag, Cedar Campus SLT, 1993; friendship pins, ca 1981; Ribbon from Haynes Apperson Festival Big Wheel Rally, 1978; Quilt block, ca. 1980

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Legg, one of the Food Fighters action figures. My brothers pitched in together to buy this for me one year for Christmas. This. Not this and something else. This. They were the finest examples of generosity ever imagined. (I don't recall having gotten them -- either of them -- anything stellar that year. But still. And yet I still have it...)

Lt. Legg is standing on a t-shirt that was given to me by my smokin' hot prom date, 1990. You can't see the mullet from here. Or that his dad was wearing his best clothes for the picture. It wasn't like it is now, putting images on t-shirts. This was kinda crazy and new and surprising... Hey Brenda, show this one to "Little Bobby G."...

Here's my SLT nametag. I know I have at least one fellow SLT-er checking in here from time to time (Hi Howard). Everyone else's driftwood was flat. Mine was rounded, scruffy and full of character. A lot like me. SLT was an amazing month at one of the most beautiful places ever.

See, I had friends in fourth grade. (I'm not telling you how many of that collection I made myself...)

And the quilt block. No, that's not keystoning (an effect caused by taking pictures of square things at an angle, or projecting a square image on a wall from below, making the image a trapezoid instead of a square) -- that quilt really is that uneven.
Third grade teacher Mrs. Fewell had us quilting during recess. My sewing skills really shine in this closeup of the center of the quilt:
Who knew I would grow up to do better???

There's a lot more in there, and many more stories, but I'll have to save those for another day. And another time when I dig further into those boxes I brought home.

P.S. Hey Thief, is that your Big Wheel Rally ribbon? And how did I end up with it? I don't recall participating in the event except as a fan. Or maybe it's the Dunce's?

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays!

That I love my boys???

I haven't written for a while so I just thought I would include some funny stories on what the boys are up to.

Adam turned four months on Friday. His favorite person is Mark. Yes, Mark is more favored than Mommy, but that's okay. Sunday he chose to skip his morning church nap; he was being passed between two of our good friends, Kristen and Brianna, and their friend during service and was far too excited to nap.

Mark has done it again with cars. A couple months ago we were walking past a driveway in our neighborhood and he pointed at the car there and announced "Grampa car". Turns out, yes, Grandpa Larry drives a Chevy Lumina, just the car that was in that drive (though I should add that the next time we saw it, after Mark had seen Grandpa's car with its dashboard alligators, Mark was a little upset that this car didn't have "lizards" too). 
Last week we walked past a truck in the same driveway and he called it "Shawn truck." I was pretty sure the truck our friend Shawn drives is a Dodge Ram, but, okay, I'm sure a Ford F-150 is similar. So when we got home I called Linda and asked her what kind of truck Shawn has. Don't you know, it's a Ford F-150. Sort of pitiful when the 2-year-old knows better than mommy what sort of vehicles people have...

And -- this one's for Grandma Sarah (get out yer Kleenex, Ma)...

I was putting Mark to bed Friday night and he pointed up at the candle from his baptism. "Can'le. Church."
"Yes, Mark," I said, "that's from church. That's from--"
He interrupted me. "Ba-tized. Water. Head."
How do you know this stuff?!?! I had to tell Pastor Wade this story. His jaw just dropped. "He gets it. He's only two, but he gets it." It just amazes me what he gets.
I told him about how Pastor Doug made the sign of the Cross on his head and on his heart, and so now Mark points to his head and says "Cross," then then points to his chest and says "Heart." I so love that little boy.

(The candle in Pastor Doug's hand is the candle in question.)

On that note, Adam will be baptized at our church, Bethel Lutheran, at 9:30 a.m. on Dec. 31. If you're in the area, you're more than welcome! If you don't have a church and would like to check ours out, you're welcome for that, too. Pastor Heather and Pastor Wade will be officiating in this baptism.

It's a few months old but worth looking at...

Both Grandmas and Auntie Kim will be sooooo pleased...

EVERYONE CAN MOVE AGAIN! The lost is found...both items (but not Jay's pizza pan) appeared under the oven. The assumed scenario is that they got caught on the upper side of the oven drawer and, when the drawer was pulled out, they got pushed back onto the floor. *Please note that I did look there earlier but apparently didn't have the right angle.* Of course Big Mama was asking probing questions like "Could someone have been over and thought it was theirs and taken it with them?" (I don't know, I think that thieving Linda had her hands full with triplets last time she left. Ha ha. And Matt isn't big enough to hide it under his jacket.)

Now I can only hope that Jay's pizza pan turns up somewhere in the Bernheisel home...

No, I have not been sucked into the ABC series that has swallowed so many of my friends. It's my mind. And our pizza peel.

Tell me: How do you lose a slab of wood large enough to hold a family-size pizza?!?!! It's not like you put it into the wrong slot in the silverware drawer or it got stuck behind a piece of mail in the "in" basket.

The other night when my beloved asked where the pizza peel was and I rolled my eyes and asked if he looked in the drawer under the oven (where it goes) and he said "Yes; it's not there," I considered it a case of not looking very well. He's not always known for really digging, and it's probably my fault because I always swoop in and find things for him rather than giving him time to hunt. So when I'd shaken off enough of the plague to sit upright, I sat on the floor and took everything out of said drawer...

And it's not there.

It's not in the cupboard with the large-ish small appliances, or with the pots and pans, or with the baking pans, or with the small small appliances. It's not in the dishwasher, or under the sink, or in the pantry closet, or in the recycling, or in the garage (as far as I can tell). It's not in the dining room, or on the kitchen table, or in the living room being used as a ramp. It hasn't wandered out to either front or back porch.

It has to be somewhere! Things around this house get lost from time to time, but something this size, like I mentioned, doesn't just vanish. (But it seems to have done just that.)

I guess if it doesn't turn up, we know what to get Tim for Christmas.

[Editor's Note: It now seems a little more interesting: my favorite baking sheet has also gone AWOL. It is also large -- to large for the dishwasher, in fact -- leading me to believe the two might be together somewhere. I am going to have to start looking in stupid places, because the smart ones have already been checked...]

The two big boys went out "treating" last night (I'm glad Mark doesn't know the rest of the phrase...) while the little one and I held down the fort and handed out candy.

(Mark was eager to get going.)

Bob the Builder warded off unwanted guests (like a cat) and was recognized by those who came to call. A group of 3 pre-teens got extra candy for singing the "Bob the Builder" theme before ringing the doorbell.

And Mark picked out the candy he wanted to eat when he got home. And he shared with Daddy. Without even being asked.

It was bedtime, and the boys were doing prayers. Well, the two bigger ones. (The little one was already asleep.)

Tim asked Mark, "What are you thankful for?"

The first thing, Tim doesn't remember.

"What else are you thankful for?"

Tim remembers this one. Mark said, "Jesus."

And cars.

"I wasn't even feeding him" the answers, Tim insisted. "We were reading from the Bible story book, but we were reading in the Old Testament."

Yeah, well, he's doing something right.

(Okay, Grandma Sarah, you can get up and get that tissue to wipe your eyes.)

After a dearth of posts, I am now burning up the Internet with all my posts.

Today was the perfect fall day -- sunny, breezy, upper 50s. So off we went to the apple orchard to pick the perfect fall apples.

Mark wasn't sure at first that he was excited about riding the wagon out to the orchard to pick, but sitting on Daddy's lap helped. By the time we got out to the apples, all was good.

Picking apples is hard work. The ones on the ground really look fine. Except for the worm and bug and rot holes, that is. We're picking Jonagold apples. Oh, except I think that's a Gala tree. Never mind...

Mark picked out his very own pumpkin. And tried to lift it.  (Too heavy.) We were cowards and didn't go out to the pumpkin patch to pick one out. We'd already had enough fun out in the orchard, and apparently the orchard's pond had spread out to include a lot of the pumpkin patch when we got 2" of rain this week.

Adam slept through the fun at the orchard, riding in the Baby Bjorn cuddled up close to Mommy and covered up to protect from sun and wind. But he woke up at the other pumpkin patch place where we went for lunch (tenderloins, chili and warm cider). He had a really big smile -- too cute -- and when I tried to take the picture, the camera turned itself off and told me in less-than-kind terms to change the batteries. Of course. so I got this one instead.

Now we have somewhere between nine and 10 pounds of apples (mostly Jonagold with a few Gala thrown in) and a nice big pumpkin.

Happy Fall everyone!

Wouldn't you???

It was an evening just like every other evening: I was taking clothes out of the dryer (now in the family room closet), Tim was playing with Mark at his train table (in the same room). Adam was up in bed already (hard day -- first shots), and Mark was saying "Ready, GO!" over and over, when he stopped and said "Daddy" and turned and gave Daddy a big hug.

He wasn't done.

"Mommy," he said, running over to me with his arms outstretched. I bent over for a big, two-armed hug.

"I love you," I said to him (like I do every time I can).

"I love you," my little (big) boy squeaked. He even used different inflection, to make me think he was saying it, not just saying it.

It was even better because we'd had a rough morning today. Maybe I bought it with Teddy Grahams after supper. Whatever.

What a nice way to end the day.

First of all, there's the big boy and his vehicles.

We're on a walk a few days ago, and we walk past one of a gazillion driveways in our neighborhood, one of probably a zillion with cars (even dark-colored ones) in the driveway, and Mark says "Gram-pa car". So I called to ask just what kind of car my father drives (because *I* don't know). Mark knows, though -- Chevy Lumina. Which is the car we passed.

Then he was playing in the window the next day and he announced "P-S! P-S truck." It first made me pause because that pairing of letters sounds a lot like his word for a certain body part that he is fairly proud of, and I wasn't sure what sort of truck was out there that pertained to that... He said it again, even pointing out the window, so I looked. There, coming to the door, was a man in brown, bearing a package from the UPS truck. Yes, he even had the brand of the package delivery company correct. My friends who work for UPS would be proud.

Lest you think I'm just going to tell stories without including any pictures... HA!

How could I possibly be this lucky????

And then there was today, when Mark retrieved my shoes by the door and walked through the living room in them. I wanted to laugh out loud but needed to get across the room, into the kitchen to get the camera, get the lens cap off and the flash ready and then get back into the living room before he lost interest.

He ended up traipsing all over the living room before the giant shoes got all tangled around his feet, but he never fell down, and finally untangled his feet only by taking them out of the shoes.

Just thought you needed another dose of my cute boys. And my bragging, I guess...

Indeed, 'tis true: The Big Boy is two.

He got a supper of his favorite foods -- grapes, scrambled eggs, cottage cheese -- and he got to eat off the "You Are Special" plate. All very exciting. But not as exciting as...

Birthday ("Bi-day") cake and ice cream ("cream"). He's not sure how to eat ice cream, but he's pretty sure that picking it up in his hand isn't it.

He went to bed after all the birthday excitment with "Lofty" (Bob the Builder's friend the crane) and is currently in his nap with his new friend, too. (Grandma Sarah can't believe his favorite present cost $1. Goes to show that when you're buying a kid's love, it doesn't have to cost that much. Hee hee.)

P.S. If you need your lawn mowed, here's your guy. He's even got eye protection.

Mark likes to shake hands. When he does, he says, "Meet you" as in "pleased to..." He likes to shake hands (in particular) with his baby brother.

He also likes to hug the baby. Mom has to make sure he doesn't strangle or smash him.

Just in case you wonder, Adam likes Mark, too. The other day, Adam sat and watched as Mark sort of crawled all over him, and when Mark got tired and went away, Adam started to cry. When Mark came back and patted him, the crying stopped.

Keep it up, boys.

So it's kind of hard to get a minute to sit at the computer and write, especially since I really ought to be sleeping most of the time I don't have a boy in one hand or the other.

So here are a couple of random thoughts...

* How funny us it when your almost-two-year-old is running around alternating between his own pronunciation of "Bon jour" and "Bozo"? ("Bow-joe" is the first, which is how it morphs into the second...)

* How is a mommy supposed to keep a straight face when telling said almost two year old not to stuff his rice into the back of his bent knee (especially when Grandma and Daddy are laughing into their napkins)?

* Why did a piece of bacon fall out of the load of laundry I was moving from the washer to the dryer? (I guess why it fell out is, it got dislodged. The question is, I suppose, where did it come from and when?)

* How cute is this???

As promised...

Mark plays with his new brother (and Daddy) at the hospital.

Adam meets Great-grandma Skelly. (He likes her.)

Mark finally decided on his own that he wanted to hold Adam.

ADAM MICHAEL was born yesterday at 12:06 p.m. The stats are 8 lbs 14 oz and 19 1/2 inches long. We are at the hospital now, taking it easy in the lap of luxury (well, sort of), though even if it's room service that you can order, it's still hospital food.

All the details are that they induced yesterday, I didn't have to have pitocin, and he was born without much pushing that had to be done. That, and epidurals are our friend. But we knew that from before.

He's been very alert and interested in a lot of things, checking out the world around him. I'll post a picture or two when I get home tomorrow.

As we approach the need to have a second car seat in the minivan, I'm looking for opinion/advice from people who might have experience in this: Where do I put the baby?

Imagine this nice minivan (it's even the right color). Both side doors (driver and passenger sides) open automatically with the push of a button. Since we got the van, Mark's seat has been located on the driver's side. That way, I don't have to load him into the van and then walk all the way around.

Now, with the impending arrival of Esmeralda or Edgar (made up names, not the ones we've picked, as if we'd picked names out yet...), I must decide. Do I move Mark's seat to the other side of the van and put the baby seat on the driver's side? Or do I leave Mark where he is and put the baby on the passenger side? Does it even matter? I will have to be on both sides of the car anyway.

We have a carrier-style seat for the baby, so it will easily "drop" into the base. Mark does not yet climb into the car or his seat, and does still have to be strapped in. Friend Linda uses the rear seats and one of the first-row seats, but she has three the same size that need dropped in at once, and she has the other first-row seat "stowed" into the floor so that she can get to the rear seats to put babies away.  

Our van potentially looks like this:

(Well, less leather, and without the console by the driver's seat. And there's a car seat in the first-row seat behind the driver.) Any of the first-row or rear seats can fold into the floor with the clever stow-and-go system so beloved in Chrysler vehicles.

So, does it matter? Where do I put the baby? Weigh in with your opinion, even if you think it doesn't matter. This would be a nice time for all my friends who I don't already know or who wander by and haven't commented to put in your two cents' worth -- or two pounds, if you're in Britain, which makes your opinion count for more.

After reading (and laughing heartily) at Terri's most recent post regarding her bright little boy, I have to weigh in as well on some of the funny and strange little things our kid has recently picked up from...well, who knows where?

While Jack (Terri's boy, and the same age as Mark) is practicing counting, all letters and numbers to Mark are still "A". Though he has been known to say "Two, tree" on occasion. But last night (and again today) he picked up a new library book that we hadn't read yet, pointed to a word on the cover, and said "Machine" very clearly. And it was the word. Did I mention we had not even looked at the book yet other than to pull it off the shelf and put it into the library bag???

This evening's pick-up time was heading into disaster when it suddenly took a turn for the better; he even picked up blocks that I didn't hand him and put them into the box. And then, just as it was time to head upstairs, he spotted his new van (which Grandma gave him on her last visit having "found" it. Where did she find it? In her bag, of course. At a store, originally, I'm sure...) and grabbed it. I thought it was headed upstairs with him to bed, but no, gleefully, he skip/hopped across the living room and put it in the bucket with the rest of the cars and trucks (and buses). We know where a successful pick-up time is from (at least that we've been trying), but it's such a refreshing change when we get it.

We're also learning that we have to be rather cautious of what words we say. Yesterday in the car it was "dumb", which of course he repeated gleefully. Grandma and I quickly turned that into a song, and then into "Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb (dum-ditty-dum-ditty-dum-dum-dum)," which was fine with him.

And, for our amusement during church, he's starting to pay attention to what's being said and repeating choice words. Fortunately that's usually "Amen", and a couple weeks ago, at the end of service, as the pastor said "Go in peace, serve the Lord," Mark repeated "Peace! Peace!"

And then there's the appreciation of humor. Just looking at a funny picture of him playing with his cousin Jonathan left him dissolved in giggles.

It's so fun to watch a little boy grow, develop, learn, change. When does it get old?

Hurray! It's our TENTH anniversary and I think we even still like each other. :)

Here is proof that yes, we really did get married, and, yes, it really was 10 years ago. Please note that my friends and I were all still skinnnnnnnny then. And that Chuck Pearson *(yes, Chuck, you were there) had long hair. And that Tim was as cute then as he is now. (Thank you Tim for being the best husband ever in the whole world... I love you!!!!)

Just in case I haven't had enough to say lately, I thought you should know...

Mark has moved into his big boy room today.

Last night Daddy moved the last of Grandpa Arnfinn's and Grandma Ruth's furniture into the new and improved guest room (formerly my sewing room, and still a catch-all room for my craft stuff as well) and put up the valances I made to go with the quilt, and so today, I took apart the crib and moved it across the hall (this would have been much easier had two doorways been about two inches wider and lined up instead of staggered a little across the hall from each other). Mark helped by playing with trucks and only knocking the side of the crib over on himself once... and he didn't let it smush him but caught it and held it up while I came to his rescue. Also I moved the dresser and some clothes from the closet, and took out the toddler bed that Jonathan used when he was here last.

He's now taking a nap in his same old bed in a new room, and I even let him take a bulldozer into bed with him so he may never want to get up. The room-darkening shades seem to work well, and I did bring his CD player in, but I didn't move the monitor over, so I really can't hear if he's carrying on. (With this comes the question: Do I continue to have a monitor in his room? Do I leave the monitor in the room for the new baby? Hmmm...)

I will try to post some pictures, at least of his new accessories, but they'll have to wait to be taken until after the boy gets up.

This is bed, quilt and left window valance. The trucks on the quilt are repeated on the valances, three for each.

And this is the right valance. This fine set includes cement mixer, tractor, dump truck, box truck, school bus and fire truck. There is a chance the boy will be too excited about the trucks to sleep at all.

One of these days, we're going to stop being amazed when the small boy makes connections that we don't know he's got. But until then, you get stories like these...

Last night he and his friend Bear (the same one who went swimming here) were playing in his room when he picked up a tiny pair of pajamas. Daddy told him they were too small for him, and that they were for a baby. He, of course, didn't recognize the pajamas as having come with Bear when they arrived from friends Jason and Gayle because, well, Bear hasn't worn them in nearly a year, anyway. But Mark did, and started trying to put the pajamas on the Bear. When he was dressed (Daddy helped), he put a blanket on the floor and he and Bear (in pajamas) snuggled up as if for bed.

Too cute.

(While I'm writing this, however, he is rebelling against "Strawberries 'n' Cream" oatmeal, and filled the back of the truck that was waiting on the table -- I thought out of reach -- for him to finish breakfast. Sigh.)

or, My Mother is Laughing Her Fanny Off Right Now and Doesn't Know Why.

We were off to the bi-weekly visit with friendly Dr. P, but, unfortunately, we'd had to shift a morning appointment to afternoon due to Dr. P having to be in surgery in the a.m. Not the best plan for my small companion, who likes -- and needs -- his naps, so we took the earliest afternoon appt. in order to get home and get to bed!

We were okay in the waiting room, just an occasional "NO" here and there, but when Ashleigh (the nurse) called me back, she did the unthinkable. She said "Hi, Mark, how are you?" in her happy, perky, Ashleigh sort of voice. "NO! NO!" he said, adding a shriek or two for good measure.

We waited in the exam room, and I was even nice enough to let him peek through the blinds at the water feature right outside -- a pretty waterfall into a small fishpond -- and assured him that as long as he behaved well, we could go out and see that "wa-tur" when we were finished (and even the fish).

In came Dr. P, with a friendly greeting for the boy. "NO!" was the response. Another shriek accompanied it. It was my turn to hop up on the table, get the baby checked, etc., and Mark added crying to the delightful shrieking. To Dr. P's credit, he snickered a little. "He's watching to see what you're going to do," he said. Not much I can do, reclining on the table while the good doc smears goo on my belly to listen to baby's heart thumping away. So I ignored it, and, lo and behold, the screaming abruptly stopped, and Mister Drama went back to calmly eating the apple slice I'd given him, looking out the window at the "wa-tur" as if nothing had gone wrong.

I had to confess that I might be more irritated at these outbursts of drama if, well, I had any grounds to be.

Why is Grandma Sarah sitting at her computer reading this and doing a triumphant dance?

Fitting with tradition, Pathfinders got rain for the 4th of July, but we managed to have fun anyhow! This time we gathered at the Reynolds's, but Shawn was off saving lives, so we had to party without him. (Don't worry, Shawn, we didn't destroy anything.)

The kids got a kick out of the pools, though by the time Noah got his turn in the baby pool, he wasn't sure he wanted it.

This wasn't a declared game of Follow-the-Leader, but... Mark had a great time following Chase and trying to do what he did.

"Here, Elijah, take it!" Mark was hogging too many of the baby-baby pool toys, so we asked him to give one of the ducks back to Elijah.

While everyone else gets kids in the house, pools dismantled, the sun shade taken apart, and cameras put away, I wait while ominous clouds seem to creep closer...and closer...with a bit of a lapful.

We did manage to gather the "Pathfinder Cousins" for a group picture before we got them all worn out. That's (left to right) Chase (age 3), Noah (7 1/2 months), Abby (2 1/2 months), Elijah (7 1/2 months), Anna (Mark's best girlfriend, 7 1/2 months) and Mark (21 months). That's Mark, trying to look nonchalant while he's got an arm around a cute girl. Tell me, does he pull it off?

Mark went today to play with his good friends Anna, Elijah and Noah. Despite his having talked all morning about going to go see "AHN-na", his visit didn't start well when he was scared by Anna's teensy dog's excited greeting. (Dexter's a Maltese and was happy to see someone to play with. Mark has a long-standing love-hate relationship with Dexter. Today it was hate. Except that later, he did pet the dog. So there.)

We played outside for a while and Mark destroyed his friends' Mommy's pretty flowers she planted, put dirt into the kiddos' swing, and, yes, chased a few soap bubbles too. But we did get a picture at the end of the visit. Mark was not the only tired one. But it looks to me like Anna might just be almost as smitten with him as he is with her.

In an effort to battle the pervasive Vinson-phone-phobia, Mark had some time on the telephone today. However, instead of just holding it up to his ear and listening with a big smile on his face (feel free to talk at length if you're "on the phone" with him), this time was different.

This time, he was talking to his best buddy, cousin Jonathan. And he talked. And talked. All right, so most of it was saying "La la la la," with Jonathan answering with "La la la" (even though both boys have words now, and Jonathan has full sentences that actually mean something). Mark held the phone up to his ear and babbled with glee. (I had the speaker on so I could hear too.)

When Brian was young, there was a rule that when he and his friend Darrell started making stupid noises on the phone, it was time to hang up. "La la la" was not necessarily high on the comprehensible list for either boy. But they were communicating with each other. And they were happy.

It's not yet 11 a.m. and it's over 90 degrees. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have the internal Vinson-heating system PLUS the extra heat of that kid in there that keeps jumping around.

First Mark brings me his shoes and hands them to me. I think I see where this is going, but I put them on him.

Then he brings me one of mine, the right sandal of the pair that I have worn exclusively since the temperature got above 50. He holds it in front of my right toe so I would put it on. Then he runs toward the front door. "Peas???" he asks imploringly.

"I need the other shoe, please," I tell him. He stands there, a little dumbfounded. He brought me a shoe. What do I think I need? That shoe is way bigger than BOTH of his little shoes. How could I be so demanding?

"It's right next to you. By the couch. Right there." I point. I really don't want to get up and commit myself to going out in the heat.

He comes back over to me, pulls on my finger. "I need the other shoe."

Next to the chair on which I'm sitting is a pair of blue mules, which I haven't worn in some days, but which haven't gotten all the way upstairs yet. He picks up the left one and holds it up to my left foot. I laugh out loud and hug him. He brought me a left shoe. I didn't necessarily tell him I needed one that matched, did I?

He finally brings me the matching sandal. We get a hat and sunglasses and head out into the oven the day has become. He wants to ride his little trike, which I have to lean over a little to help him push. (I'd rather he just walk.) I have become a complete wimp in the heat. We don't go very far, and I've had it. He wants to take the hat off because his head's hot and sweaty. I don't want his little blond head with its wisps of fine hair to turn into a tomato. We head home. Fortunately, we see a dog partway, which salves the wound of having to go home before he's ready.

We water the plants on the front porch, and he holds his hand under the drip from the hanging baskets. Now his hands are dirty, so we have to go in to wash hands. Washing hands is almost good enough that he forgets he was ripped off on his walk. The air conditioning helps mom a little, too.

The temperature's supposed to drop a little in coming days. Then we can take more walks, little guy.

For just a moment to pack for our trip to Grandma and Grandpa's. Do you want to come upstairs and help, or play nicely downstairs, Mark?

No. Such an adorable smile. I closed the lid of the toilet and went about my work.

I heard the rustling of plastic while I was working, and assumed he was checking out some of the plastic-wrapped magazines that hadn't been opened yet. But I did come down to check after a few minutes.

There he sat, in the entryway, with the bag of potatoes Daddy just brought home. He'd opened it, and had a little pile of potatoes surrounding him.

"Let's put them back," I said, holding the bag open for him to put them back in. He did, happily. Then he went over to the table by the door and brought over three more.

Then he went to the front window and brought over four or five more.

Then he went to the little table in the living room where Daddy was using his computer and brought me seven or eight more.

I think that's all.

But if you find a potato in the toybox, that's the story.

I know it's going back in time, but in honor of grandparents everywhere, I'm posting pictures from Mark's Easter Egg hunt way back a couple weeks ago...

Testing the basket for soundness before the actual event.

 

Clearing some of the mud so the other kids don't have to walk through it.

 

All the fun of gathering eggs -- and who cares what's in them? It's fun! It's great! I have a wide open space to run in!

Wait a minute. Who's that guy in the weird suit?

Forget it, Dad. You're not getting me anywhere near that monstrosity!

Good friends are great... and it's really cool to see your little boy deciding he likes people. Especially super-great people, like his cousin Jonathan.

The picture wasn't able to capture the best of the hug -- or even the best hug -- but Jonathan, who doesn't like hugs so much ("Stuck!" is his usual protest when he's stuck in one, so it seems), was a willing participant in this one.

Yes, they BOTH hugged each other, though Mark was a little more enthusiastic about it. But he's a hugger. And it was cute cute.

...so where's our rocket packs?

Well, it may not be a rocket pack (it's not the 80s anymore, either, DA), but the Noblesville household has acquired its first robotic implement. After years -- seriously, years -- of threatening, we now have a new friend to help out. Meet Roomba.

Yogurt!!!

 

 

 

 

A nice big bite!

 

No spills here!

And a clean finish...

As I wait for my popcorn shrimp ("oven crisp") to cook, I thought I would reflect a moment on the development of a small boy's eating -- and choosing -- habits.

It didn't take long for Mark to figure out that THAT plastic container on the counter contains cookies, and that if he went over there while Grandpa Cody was here and looked at it longingly (maybe even raised his arms up a little) both he and grandpa would get a snack. This wasn't the beginning of begging for cookies, but it sure took it to a whole new level. Now he can say "Cookie" while he reaches for the tasty treat. He even might throw in a "please" (pees) and rub his belly in "baby sign" -- something he learned from his cousin Jonathan, I might add. Often if he uses that many ways to ask, Mommy caves (as long as it's a reasonable snack time, which it usually is when he asks).

Daddy bought some "snack packs" of Teddy Grahams on Wednesday. By Friday morning, Mark knew where the bag was on the counter, and knew he wanted those instead of the cookies and animal crackers in the container on the other counter. He went to that counter to reach up and look adorable and pleading. (It was, once again, a legitimate snack time.)

He also went to the refrigerator the other day, pulled at the handle and said "Muk." "Oh," I said. "Would you like your milk?" I got the cup out and handed it to him. He promptly handed it back and started checking out the containers of leftovers on the bottom shelf. The pulled pork he looked at and put back. The macaroni and cheese he pulled out and handed to me. Um, sorry, buddy, not for snack. "How about some yogurt?" Besides the fact that yogurt starts with "Y" (his favorite letter of the alphabet), he also likes it a LOT. He can eat it with a spoon by himself, as long as he doesn't forget and stick his hand all the way into the yogurt cup. Yesterday's foray into yogurt was with only a tiny glob on his spoon-hand (a glob which annoyed him until I wiped it off).

Of course, there are the things he would prefer not to eat. Most of them are green, though I did get him to try artichoke the other day. (He didn't like it.)

Well, the shrimp's done, so I'm off to eat.

A short glossary of Mark terms, because some unnamed Grandma keeps pestering me for a new entry, and do we really want to read about snotty noses and not being able to sleep? (No. And I don't want to write about it either. It makes my nose stuffier.)

BEE-bee: Baby. Either in reference to a picture of a baby or the one in Mommy's tummy. Or, occasionally, in reference to an actual baby, though he doesn't pay as much attention to them as you'd think, given his fascination with pictures of them.

COOK-kie: Just exactly what it sounds like. Usually said while pointing to the overly large barrel of cookies on the counter.

DAT, also DIS: That and this. Nouns interchangeable with any word he doesn't want to say. Often accompanied by a point.

DCKL: (mostly sounding like a funny noise with his mouth) Tickle. Usually when he's been tickled, the laughter has stopped, and he wants it to continue.

DAH-Deee: His favorite person.

EAT!: (often repeated) Eat. It's a good way to get him to the high chair. "Time to eat, Mark!" He replies, "Eat! Eat! Eat!" and rushes in the general direction of the table.

EEF: The sound a dog makes.

EEPS: Grapes. Apparently, though not confirmed.

GUCKY: (Guk-Key) Lucky. Mark has two dog friends named Lucky; both are very nice and like little kids. Last week the boy Lucky and his owner came over to say hello. The girl Lucky is often visible from our front yard (sometimes leading us to really want to cross the street to say hi).

ISH!: (often EESH) Fish, often the ones at the Library, though sometimes referring to fish in books or those at Meijer. Often repeated excitedly from the entrance doors of the library.

MAAAH-Meee: Someone who gets him what he needs. (In a choice between the two parents, it's usually DAH-Dee.)

MUK: Sounds like it should mean "milk," but I think it means "Something out of the refrigerator".

NO: (sometimes accompanied with shaking of the head) 1. No. 2. Yes. 3. Maybe. 4. None of the above. Often an answer to a question, but frequently not a negative response.

No, No, No: (Accompanied by a naughty smile, often said to Grandma or other non-parental grown-up): Mom and Dad don't let me do this; are you going to?

RAH, also DAH: Sounds made by Lions, Tigers, Elephants, and sometimes Dolphins

YUCKY: (usually with a giggle) A fun word to say without much meaning. Also a funny word for Grandma to say. Grandma seems to mean something by it, but Mark just likes the sound of it. Synonyms: Yes, Yak, Yakety yakety yak, yesterday, yellow, and any other word that begins with "Y".

Other words that he understands that make occasional appearances: BOOK, DOG, CAT, BEAR, COAT, JACK (jacket), UMM-MAH (Grandma), BATH, PEES (please, accompanied by the Baby Sign for please, rubbing his belly, which he learned from his cousin Jonathan).

Well, that is a short glimpse into the vocabulary of the boy. I have not chosen to include various tones of shriek as they are hard to phoneticize.

Mister Bear is one of Mark's best friends. He goes places with him, sometimes sleeps with him, gets hugs and kisses, and is generally always there for his best boy.

Today, however, he was just a little too close at bath time.

Tim brought the dripping bear back downstairs after the bath. Dripping. Not just damp.

Mark had to go to bed without Bear. Truthfully, he's got enough friends in there. He's not going to be lonely. But I was sure that we needed to get things back to right as quickly as possible.

After an hour on low heat, he was still splattering water (not just damp). So I decided to up the odds of getting poor Bear dry tonight and increased the heat to Permanent Press. In less than an hour, Mister Bear was dry and fluffy again (though he'd escaped from his pillowcase).

I stitched the spot on his back that was starting to come open, and tomorrow morning, there will be a happy boy. He'll have a big hug for his best Bear.

It was past time for another visit to the Children's Museum, and since the innards were calm (at least for the day), I decided today was the day. Without consulting the boy, of course. He tried to be cranky as we bustled around getting ready to go (filling a cup with milk, gathering a snack for him AND one for mommy/baby, putting on jackets...) but got interested in wherever it was once we got into the car. He loves to watch the world from his carseat. Sometimes he talks to trucks/ducks/people/dogs, and sometimes he just watches. Today was mostly a watching day.

The museum was a madhouse, an absolute zoo of unruly schoolchildren on field trips, some properly chaperoned, some careening down the famous children's museum ramp pushing strollers (why, may I ask, is there a baby in a stroller along on a school field trip? Which of these third graders is the parent of said small child? None? WELL THEN WHERE IN HEAVEN'S NAME WAS THE PARENT??? About forty yards behind, as it turns out, which, on famous ramp is about a half a floor), some gaping at nothing and then walking RIGHT INTO and falling on top of the stroller carrying said good-natured boy and his puppy, who got to come along. (Shhhh, the people at the desk thought it was stuffed...)

But! This is a happy post, because, due to my employment at friendly farm and historic museum, I get in free! And due to the boy's not-so-advanced age, so does he! So we made a beeline to the PLAYSCAPE area, the place just for preschoolers/toddlers/babies (school groups must have reservations). It, too, was a madhouse, but in a much more supervised manner. It was a happy madhouse.

Mark played in the absolutely amazing water run, mostly just letting the water drip over his hand and picking up toys out of the water to drop them back in, and then wandering over to another part of the fixture, completely ignoring his mother. I could've gone for coffee and he wouldn't have noticed.

Then off to the sandbox, completely nonplussed at the three-year-old girl who took a toy exactly out of his hand and said, "I want this." He didn't care. He got something else and continued on his happy little way.

Then it was a break for lunch (and re-entry into chaos, as the lunch-disaster area was, of course, full of all ages of people, not just veyr happy small fry). It was stressful and eternal (good thing we packed the milk and the applesauce), but eventually we were out of that area and back to Playscape once again. Why mess with a good thing?

We visited a climbing area, a play house, a fun pretend garden, the soft crawly area for babies (people under 2, please!) and then found THE CAR. It was a large wooden car, with which Mark fell in love. Unfortunately the object of his affections was being saved by a rather larger boy for his mommy (what mommy would tell her 4-year-old to save that toy for her???), but he agreed to share it with Mark. (Happily, I found another car to offer him for his mom when she asked him where the car he was supposed to save was. And thanked him for sharing with the baby. Even though Mark is NOT a baby...)

Mark loved the car. He proceeded to drive the car around the entire Playscape area for the next hour. He drove it over the mountains. He drove it through the tunnel (about 10 times. In a row). He spent the entire time crawling all over the place on his knees with this big wood car. Once again, I could've dropped off the planet, and it would've been okay with him, as long as I didn't take the car with me when I left.

When he started yawning, I knew it was time to head out. He started for the door. We had to go back and put the car away. He started to have a small tantrum. He got tucked into his stroller (and got Doggy dug out of the diaper bag for him to hold) and we were headed for home.

He was asleep in 15 minutes. He was awake when we got home. He did agree to go down for his nap, but was giggling when I closed his door, went to my own room, turned down the monitor, and snuggled down in my bed for my own nap. An hour later he was playing happily in bed when I woke up. Not sure if he got any more nap (Mom calls that a "play nap"), but we had a fun day. And we'll sleep well tonight!

Mark has new shoes today. He is now wearing a size 6 1/2. He tried on three pairs of shoes and proudly tramped around the store in his new brown multi-purpose shoes (casual enough for every day but dressy enough to go with a pair of khakis). He offered the salesman at the store the most prized possession he had at the moment, his "under-3" prize from his McDonald's Happy Meal, a Little People dog. (Of course, he wanted it back right away.)

He wore his shoes all around the house and even wore them in his nap, but that was mostly just because he was asleep when we got home and his mom didn't want to wake him by taking them off. He played with them when he was getting his diaper changed, and, in general, seems very pleased with them -- and perhaps with himself for needing them. They look big on his little feet, but seem to fit just fine.

Daddy got a pair of free new shoes this morning in Boston in a "this would only happen to Tim" story. Apparently some lady bought them at the factory store across from his hotel for her son, but bought the wrong size. Now Tim's little feet will be another pair of sneakers happier.

I think someone else will need a new pair of shoes. A girl has to keep up...

Do I care anymore if I get AOL instant messages from people I don't know as long as they aren't in the middle of the night (and I can turn the darn thing off if it's not charging in my room) and as long as they aren't supposed to be for someone's husband in Iraq? Now is the time to ask the question because the next step is changing my phone number, which I do NOT believe will help since these messages aren't supposed to be for me anyway and are being sent by people on their computers, not on phones anyway.

Mark is in hog heaven as he has grandparents to dote upon him. This morning we made a trip over to the Prairie with no stroller because there were plenty of hands to hold. He was more than happy to charge forward and show them where to go, though he was a bit resentful that he couldn't go play outside. (It was cold, and there was a program going on outside.) But a trip to Steak N Shake and an elbow in his cottage cheese was enough fun to forget the disappointment (especially with said grandparents being right there for the fun).

Naps are a NICE thing. For everyone.

 

Mark has a good friend named Max. He got Max for his birthday (a little late, thanks to Uncle David trying to give him to other children, apparently) and likes him pretty well.

He's super cute and makes nice sounds when he "walks". He has a string and can be pulled along behind a walking child, and his head bobs and tail wags. Super cute.

Today Mark pulled Max out of the toybox and started to pull him around the room. I said, "Oh, are you and Max going for a walk?"

Unfortunately, Mark seems to understand the "w" word just fine -- on his terms. He dropped Max's string and made a beeline for the front door and tried to open it. It annoyed him that we had to take the time to put on jackets and stuff. It was wretchedly cold (stiff wind, drizzle), but Mommy indulged him (though what I actually meant was were he and Max going to take a walk around the house) and off we went, the boy, the Mom, and Max.

It was so cute to see Mark toddling down the driveway holding onto Max's "leash". We walked down the street to the water meter in front of Corbin's house and played on the meter cover for a minute, then came back (it was pretty cold). Mark lost his grip on the string a couple times crossing the street, no less. I was afraid we'd have smashed Max in the street if we weren't careful.

Back at home, we had to have a swing in the swing before we could go in. Max doesn't fit very well behind the safety harness in Mark's hands, so we had to readjust so Max was sitting next to Mark instead of on Mark's lap.

Back inside, it was time to go off to Mommy's doctor appointment, and Max was forgotten (for a time). But don't worry, he's still a good friend...

"I had a drink somewhere..."

Famous last words as Tim steps into the living room in search of the can of pop he'd been enjoying. Mark had been eating his lunch in his high chair, and Daddy was working on the computer while watching Olympics. Mark finished eating, and Tim cleaned up lunch and went to go find his drink.

The baby found it first.

He had gently carried it over to the front window, where he'd poured the can of Mountain Dew onto the windowsill and was fingerpainting in it with glee. He was really having fun. Too bad the video camera wasn't at hand.

In order to be up, fed and ready (and preferably not morning-sick) for our "grand resort" tour, we hung our room service order on the doorknob Sunday night and settled down to sleep, knowing the kind room service people would deliver at or near 7 a.m. Monday morning. Tim also set an alarm, just in case their knock was too soft or whatever...

Seven a.m. Tim is up early, taking a bath and reading a book. I peek out the door to see if perhaps a breakfast tray is just waiting for the room service's clock to turn to 7 a.m. Nothing. I open the door. The nice little room service order card is still dangling from the doorknob. It was placed there before midnight, as instructed. (Well before midnight. Nine p.m. maybe?) Tim calls the desk. We are instructed to talk with management later, as we do not have time to wait for them to bring us breakfast before making our trip to the grand resort for our vacation ownership tour and offer. We stop at McDonald's for a Big Breakfast. One is never disappointed with a McDonald's Big Breakfast -- unless it's the one in Gahanna and they're out of biscuits, but that's beside the point.

We see the place. Lovely. "All of these people are owners." (Except of course those who have rented, NOT as owners, as we have since discovered can be done for anywhere from $150 up per night, depending on the size of room...) We do not buy, despite the enticing offers meant to push us over the edge. We move on.

Off we go to Kennedy Space Center. We stand in line, buy tickets, stand in line to go through a metal detector, then stand in line to have our bags searched, and off we go to find food. Unfortunately the pregnant Jenny is hungry enough to pay the usurious price for the food -- a chicken calzone, bag of cheetos and a drink totals over $12, and we wonder why it is that Dad didn't want to go here back in the day??! -- and then we're off for a bus tour that takes us by all the cool sites at Kennedy (well, several of them), stopping us off at the LC39 Observation Gantry (from which launches from both LC39A and LC39B could be seen) for a movie and opportunity to go up to the top for pictures. We watch the movie. We take the pictures. We get back on another bus and go to the Apollo/Saturn V launch site. We see another movie. Then we go into MISSION CONTROL for the launch, and there's a recording using the actual desks and controls for Mission Control, with the voices of the people who were doing the work, the noise from the launch (they made the windows shake), a very very cool thing (perhaps my favorite). Then we get to go through the displays and see a real Saturn V rocket, moon lander, all that cool stuff, and since Tim has been there before (albeit when he was not yet a teenager), he didn't make me stop and read all the signage and all that. Nice Timmy. Good Timmy. Then back on another bus and off to the International Space Station. Well, not actually to the space station, since it's, well, in space. But we got to see some space station modules and go through them, and then we got to go across a bridge into the building where they actually work on building the modules that become part of the ISS. Then it's back on the bus to head back to the visitor's center.

En route to and from the places, we had short videos and also commentary from the bus drivers, and got to see where the space shuttle is worked on, the big tracks that the mover drives to get it to the launch pad, and even one of the big movers that the platform and then the space shuttle and all its accessories are put on and then taken to the launch pad. Also various aspects of local wildlife were pointed out, including an eagle's nest that has been inhabited by eagles for at least 30 years (our bus driver said 40 but the book said 30...). The eagles come down for the winter, hatch their babies, then fly to North Carolina for the warm months, and then the female goes on some distance further to take a vacation from her mate until they get back together to head back to the Cape for the winter. Interesting. We could see it clearly -- it was very near the road -- and Tim saw eagles in it.

Back at the Vistor's Center we attempted to get food but were so horrified by the prices we turned away -- in the end, a mistake. Then we went off to see the Space Shuttle, the Rocket Garden, the IMAX movie, and, of course, the Gift Shop. After that, we stopped off at the Astronaut Hall of Fame, saw some cool stuff, took Tim's picture with the display of his favorite astronaut, Story Musgrave (he met him when he went to Houston after high school graduation to accept his NASA Challenger scholarship), and back to Orlando for some food (too late, run down preggy lady who should'a eaten sooner, but lesson learned). Ate Mexican, back to the hotel, Tim deals with the manager on the subject of room service, and we will be BOTH granted complimentary room service in the morning.

(please note the moon in the sky just off the tip of the rocket. I worked very hard to get that shot...)

Yes indeed, we managed to go on a grownups only vacation, leaving Mark for a few days of fun with Uncle Brian and Aunt Tara, and, of course, his cousin Jonathan. Reports came in daily (we called, of course), and all indicated he was having a blast!

One of the interesting things of the trip is that Mark has discovered (we're sorry, Uncle David and Uncle Dan) that he loves UNCLE BRIAN best of all. (Let that be a challenge to the rest of you... heh heh.) In fact, on Sunday morning before we were even ready to leave, while Mommy was holding him, he stuck out his arms to go to Uncle Brian, and hugged and hugged him. Word has it that the whole time we were gone, no one but that favorite uncle was the hero... Aunt Tara reports that he would only go to her if Uncle B was nowhere to be seen or heard.

It helps to have friends in strange places. At check in at the airport, I discovered former Conner P. co-worker Becca working one of the check-in counters. We let people pass us in line so we could have her. I suggested perhaps she could find us a good seat for a pregnant person (me, not Tim), and, after shrieking something like "You're pregnant again already?!?!!" she asked how business class sounded. PRET-TY GOOD, frankly. So we made our trip there in style, plenty of legroom, free cocktails (well, for SOME PEOPLE) and a choice of snacks (I got a luscious thick chocolate-chocolate chip cookie).

In Orlando, the snow we'd left behind in Ohio and Indiana was a thing of the past. It was sunny and nice, though not overly warm, and I suppose locals looked at the idiots with the convertible top down and thought "Must be tourists from up north where they don't know that 65 degrees is too cold for something like that."

But we were tourists from up north, and we didn't think 65 degrees was too bad at all, and it was sunny and nice and I got the tiniest hint of pink on my neck where my v-neck t-shirt let in a little sun, and we wore hats and sunglasses and I even wore capri pants and it was nice. (Tim did not wear capri pants, because he is not European, nor is he one for the latest fashions.)

Further entries will detail our fun activities and the horrific themed hotel, but we will leave you with the fact that we did NOT (I repeat, did NOT) buy into a fantastic vacation ownership package despite their generosity in sharing this great opportunity. And to think, we could finance it all at 14.9%. It really was a lovely property, and were we used to a good deal more luxury than Motel 6 or Holiday Inn might offer, it might be something to consider. But... what's wrong with the Holiday Inn? (nothing that we can think of...)

Okay, I will include a gratuitous hotel photo...

At least at sunset it sort of matches... sort of. Nowhere have I ever imagined salmon, pink, purple and green to be a coordinating color combination.

Perhaps I will take the time, also, to include dining highlights from our first night, dinner at Salt Island Chophouse & Fish Market. Good food; we left stuffed.

But for now, I believe there's some TV that we missed while we were gone. That and opening ceremonies for the Olympics. More to come...

 

It's a continuation of his latest phase, but Mark is really into his cats these days. As in his early days of speech ("dogdogdogdog"), now everything is "CAT". Fortunately, most things he points at and says that about, are.

On Tuesday, we went to the library to get some new reading material. After watching the fish for a while (still a favorite, perhaps because stereotypically cats like to catch fish?), we were wandering the stacks. I suggested that we might look for a tiger book. Mark immediately walked to the next shelf, put out his finger, and pointed to a teensy tiny picture of a tiger on the end of a videotape.

Okay. Tiger book. Good plan. Except that was the general "animal" section. I had to go two rows over to get to tigers. We came back with a couple books, one a true winner.

Of course, the lion on the front gets the same sound effect as the tiger ("raaaah"). The pictures are, as one would expect from a DK Eyewitness book, spectacular. The text, while missing Mark's age group by some 8 years, is interesting in small snippets. The pages are spellbinding for the little dude. He sat in the car on the way to Bible Study on Wednesday "reading". I didn't hear a peep all the way there or all the way home. Well, except for the occasional "raaaah".

Molars let you chew on hard stuff.

They make being a carnivore possible.

They are the coolest teeth to brush because of all that surface area.

If only Mark's would break through and stop hurting!!!

It might not be true. I might be completely out in left field on this one, but I think there's some truth here.

 

I think the small boy might be a tiger.

 

Yesterday, he punctuated with random declarations of "Raaah" in a most growly voice for a small boy. Add to that his insistence upon crawling on hands and knees through the kitchen -- a form of mobility that was given up months ago. When Daddy set him on his feet to walk, he returned to his knees. And came back in growling again.

 

This morning, we were reading the alphabet at the back of Richard Scarry's Best Word Book Ever, and we got to the picture for T: a tiger wearing a rain slicker. Mark pointed at it and said "Raaah."

 

Mind you, this tiger is standing upright wearing hat and coat, but that boy knows how it should be. He knows they walk on all fours. And he knows what they say.

 

One of his first board books asked the question "Are Tigers Ticklish?"

 

The answer?

 

Raaaaah.

It's 8:40 a.m. The small boy is having a joyous breakfast of Cheerios and milk and bananas. The doorbell rings.

"We'll be turning off the water at about 9 o' clock to work on the water line leaks down on the corner. It'll be off for about seven hours."

"You've got to be kidding!"

Sympathetic smile.

"You don't have a 15-month-old, do you?"

"No." Small chuckle.

"Well, thanks..."

Then it's off to give the boy another chunk of banana (he's entirely un-trustworthy with the whole thing) while I start filling buckets. I might have to use the bathroom today! I might have to drink water! Who knows how long it's been since I watered the plants? They may expire before the water comes back on! What about scrubbing the showers and solid-surface floors? Finishing the laundry? Washing the windows? Running the dishwasher? Boiling a half-dozen eggs? Taking a bath? For that matter, taking a shower???

Well, I have one flush in each toilet (except the downstairs one, which already got used. Amazing, isn't it how you suddenly have to GO when you know you have a limit???) and two buckets of water downstairs and two (smaller) buckets of water on the main level, and two bottles of water in the fridge. And, barring any unforeseen troubles in the repair, only 5 more hours to go...

A certain little boy still isn't feeling well.

This moment finds him upstairs, sleeping. Due to extreme congestion, he sounds rather like Uncle David or Grandpa Larry whilst he sleeps. A visit to the doctor today finds him "pitiful" but not bad enough for antibiotics yet. The parents are doing all the right things, says the doc. Mark played his part by leaning on mommy and fussing, not wanting to be weighed and crying through it and not even playing with the sticker the nice nurse gave him, as if to prove that, yes, you people, I am really sick. One ear has a little fluid (once again, not enough for concern), but the chest is fine. It's just the nose that isn't. And the mood. Sigh.

Feel better, little buddy.

 

Does he care that he's wearing an awesome shiny new vest?

Does he care that his shoes make funny sounds on the floor?

Does he care that he's a fashion plate with his swanky new matching outfit and tie?

No. He cares that he has a cookie in his mouth. And another in his hand.

Merry Christmas all.

And so we went, off to the Indiana State Museum to see the fabulous traveling Lord of the Rings exhibit. This impressive exhibit of all things LOTR is the authorized LOTR exhibit and has toured the world's major cities, including Boston, London, Sydney, Singapore... and Indianapolis.

The Dunces and the Noblesvillians happily forked over our admission fees and made our way to the third-floor galleries that house this exhibit. There we feasted our eyes on stunning costumes, armor, jewelry... Wow. That stuff, the real stuff from the movie, right there. We got to try out some green-screen effects (the Dunce was a Gondorian soldier, the Noblesvillian was an elf, and I was an Uruk), feel the incredibly light-weight but real-looking chain mail (the boy liked that a lot), wander the gallery seeing familiar objects, check out the scale-models, and try out some other special effects as well. And how much cooler was it when I met up with a buddy from my own museum, who is now working at the state museum supervising this very exhibit?

It was also mighty cool to try out the scale model trick they used to make Frodo look that much smaller than Gandalf on the cart heading into the shire. The video screen showing it as we did it looked pretty funny, but the photo (two pictures, trading sides so each party gets the chance to be big, for $6. But it's a one-time thing...) was even more impressive. Wowie, look at the GIANT BABY!!! (And his tiny duncey uncle!)

 

 

Yes, we got to be tiny, too.

And yes, there was a gigantic model of the cave troll. (Bigger than Uncle Dunce, that troll.) The small boy was particularly impressed with the giant monster. Frightened? Oh no. He stared up at the creature's hideous face. He talked to it. He waved at it. As we left the gallery, he turned back to the cave troll, waved, and jabbered at it.

Bye Bye, Cave Troll

Today was a great day. Today was the much-anticipated trip to the Children's Museum. We were meeting a friend there, and it seemed as good a time as any, particularly since my work ID was back in my possession and I could get in for free.

Our first activity upon arrival was lunch. We got a table in the food court facing the windows, with hopes that facing away from all the action would enable Mark to focus on his eating. For once, there was nothing to fear. He tucked into his pizza and breadstick like a starving wolf, or at least like I imagine a starving wolf would if given pizza and a breadstick. In the meantime, friend Andrea went off to fill drink cups, leaving Aislinn to chew on a little piece of breadstick. She finished it and decided she wanted more, so she grabbed the tray and started to pull it toward herself. Quick thinking by Auntie Jur saved the day (and Andrea's lunch).

We saw lots of amazing things. Mark was in hog heaven. In each area, he was able to stroll/run from activity to activity, trying new things, looking at fascinating things. He got to look at what it's like underwater in a pond, saw a stuffed fox, and played with rubber rocks and building blocks in the Science area; and rode a giraffe on the carousel, but the most wonderful thing was the Playscape area, designed for preschoolers and younger, where Mark could play with abandon.

The best area was the water table, long troughs of moving water with all manner of floating toys, and all at the perfect height for little people. Despite the supplied rubberized coverup and provided clip to keep it fastened, a certain baby ended up with wet sleeves, but he had such a wonderful time! Every time he finished with another area in Playscape (the sandbox, baby climbing stuff, building stuff, etc...), he would head back toward the water table for another go. (And each time as I caught him and felt his soaking sleeves, I directed him somewhere else....)

We saw the dinosaurs and fish, played a computer game (and finally got to Indiana in an "Oregon Trail"-type game), went into a real log cabin (old hat, he told me), and tried lots of other fun stuff.

We'll be going back. Especially since, for Mommy (and the boy who is under 2), it's free.

I crushed the little boy's spirit -- if momentarily -- today.

Off we had gone to the library, to check out some books for the mommy of Anna, Noah and Elijah. Sometimes Mark gets to walk in on his own, but knowing we'd have to spend a few minutes in the adult non-fiction books about preemies section, I thought the stroller would be handy.

We walked in the front door, and he started bouncing, leaning forward in his stroller, jabbering happily, aiming us in the direction of the stairs which descend to the children's department and all its diversions, particularly the ones that live in big tanks and swim about. Except that I did not drive us that way, but instead through the doors to the GROWNUP BOOKS! Outrageous! Cruel! He let me know that I had let him down. He screamed. He shrieked. He whined and threw himself about in anger. He cooled down and wandered around pushing the stroller and wondered how long this boring section would take.

We got a small pile of books for Linda to peruse. And then it was down to the children's department for some books for a certain small boy. And maybe, just maybe, we'd go past those denizens of the deep. Except, because we had the stroller, we couldn't go down the stairs; we'd have to use the elevator. That was a point of concern, because we went the wrong way. But he continued to chant, hoping that his words would fix things.

Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish.

And then the elevator stopped, and we were downstairs, and through that door -- yes, that one -- were the fish, and we were through the door and Mark was happy again, jabbering happily to his friends with whom he was reunited.

Look! Look! Look! Look!

Our library has beautiful fish, by the way.

Really. Nobody move until I find out which one of you stole my work ID badge.

It was Mom. Or Mark. Or the two of you in concert.

It's been gone for two weeks now. The last time I had it, I stuck it in my pocket, saying "I'm going to need this tonight." (I would be going to sewing later and would, indeed, need it to get into the building.)

By the time I got to sewing, it was gone.

Some of us *might* have gone to a local restaurant before sewing. I checked there. Really. The very next morning, I called and asked. They hadn't seen it, but assured me they'd keep an eye out for it. I even looped through the parking lot and checked by the parking space I'd used the night before. No tag on the ground.

Last week I made the trip over to work to do something -- now I can't even remember what -- but mostly with the purpose of heading upstairs to have a new badge made -- at a cost to me of FIVE (5) DOLLARS. However, the new lady who does it now that the amazing Kelly is working maintenance was ill that day, and the other person who could also do it was also not in. So I didn't get it.

That means (aside from not getting into the building without calling the front desk) that I can't go free to my friendly local museums until I replace it. I can't plan a Children's Museum trip with Andrea and the girls and Mark until I get my ID badge. I can't run off for a freezing zoo trip. I can't see the LORD OF THE RINGS exhibit at the Indiana State Museum (http://www.in.gov/ism/MuseumExhibits/lotr.asp), at least not for a museum-employee courtesy price. I determined I *would* get back and get a new badge.

This morning I got a phone call. It was one of the people roughly in my department. Mr. So-and-so (of facilities fame) came by and dropped off my ID badge with her (possibly because she was the only person "in charge" around at the time in our department). He'd been at said restaurant that evening (the same evening as I had been, 2 weeks ago) apparently wearing his museum-logo duds. An employee, finding my badge, had given it to him to return to me. I'm sure he or she thought it would happen in a more timely manner.

But you can all move again. The lost is found.

I don't know how it happened, but the other night I came home to find him playing peek-a-boo with his girlfriends Kristin and Brianna. And he did it again today. Of course, that was, when he wasn't trying to BITE.

He got his first time-out yesterday for biting Mommy. I told him the next time he bit, he would have to go up to his crib -- with NO PACIFIERS. He bit. He got to sit in there for a minute by himself, not even with his favorite blankey-bear. Horrible mean mommy.

But today, what an angel. We went shopping this morning to buy Uncle Brian some coal, Uncle David a KISS album, Grandpa a new kitten, Grandma a hard strategy game, Aunt Tara a music box, and Aunt Amanda a sweater that matched everyone else's. He was a very happy baby, talking and laughing in his stroller, sitting up excitedly whenever he saw another baby (which was all the time; the place was teeming with them!), and in general having a great time!

Now he's up in his room making a lot of noise, so I guess it's time for Mommy to let him get up from his "nap". *(Play-nap, of course.)

But he can peek-a-boo!

It was Mark's first Halloween (not trick-or-treating, but passing out candy). That was big enough.

But today brought a really big first that I didn't see coming.

The doorbell rang. I went to the front door, threw it open to find a local boy (who I knew) and a girl (who I didn't). Benjamin is the youngest son of the director of my division at work, a nice kid, fourth grade or somewhere in that area. The girl is probably his age. She was wearing red colored lip balm. Both had their bikes with them.

"Can Mark play?" Ben asked.

Unfortunately, Mark was still in his afternoon nap. He didn't get to experience the thrill of the first time someone came over to ask if he could come play.

I can't believe someone came over and asked Mark to come out and play. It's a new day.

Mark decided to help Daddy put together a shelf unit for the living room. First, he got his tools ready.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then he pitched in and lent a hand. What a big help he was, too!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, he also showed his gross motor skills (aside from his carpentry skills, of course) by taking on the balance beam portion of the shelf-building event.

All the while, Mommy was off at work, but when she got home, she was pleased with the new shelf, and, of course, happy with some new cute pictures, too.

It was eighth grade. It's a bad enough time to be alive without a ninth-grade brother to complicate things.

I walked into rehearsal for the current play I was in, and one of my friends, a Mr. R____, was behaving in a strange manner. After some time of awkward avoidance, he finally told me, "Your brother says you like someone in this cast." What? I was taken aback. How would my brother know such things? I would certainly never have told him anything of the sort, even if I had happened to have spoken to him (entirely by accident, I am sure). I wouldn't have mentioned to anyone else any interest in any young man of our acquaintance. And to whom would he be referring?

Hmm, looking about, the options were endless. It was a rather large cast, and, indeed, I had a rather large list to choose from. There might have been one or two who would land higher on my list (and those of every other eighth-grade girl in the cast), and there were certainly those who weren't even in the running (even for me, hard to believe but true).

Mr. R____ finally came out with it. The person my brother had told him that I liked was... him. My brother, discretion personified, had, apparently (and so it was found to be true) read my diary, and had harvested juicy tidbits for future use. What a dear boy he was, and so insightful to find the book stashed in such a secret spot. (Knowing me, I'd probably left myself a note of where to find it.) But back to the revelation.

How does one answer such a thing????? You can't admit it, for heaven's sake. Even if he had occupied one of those higher spots on the list (which I don't think he did, though time and knowledge of future events might shape my recollections here), it would be beyond the humiliation facing me to admit any particular feelings toward this individual. Let it be known here and now, though, that my attentions and interests at the time were neither highly focused nor selective (those who know might remember "Herman" and other notables who shall remain unnamed for the sake of this writer and any innocent bystanders). So to say that R_____ may have garnered a mention in my personal literature would not be surprising as the list included a great many young men of my acquaintance -- and not a few with whom I was not acquainted. If admitting it would be humiliating for me, what does denial do for the party who has broached the subject? "Gee, R_____, he must be mistaken, for I find you repugnant. Good heavens, how could I like you? I would sooner like (fill in the name of a more repulsive cast member here)!"

I don't remember how I answered the comment, but I think it was some hot denial of even keeping a diary. I doubt it flew. The next day he was "going with" A___, a girl in my grade who I did not know well, but to whom he introduced me. She was a very nice girl. I did make a point of noting that in my non-existent diary for peeping eyes to read. In the years to follow, though, R____ remained my friend, and never again did the issue of the diary rear its ugly head. At least in that circle. I am sure said brother read it for the rest of its life, but I didn't hear about it after he outgrew that ninth-grade stage. I also did not become much more discreet, though I did start using code names. Which I then decoded in the back of the very same book. Boy was I a smart one. At any rate, the diary no longer is a part of my memoribilia. Whew. I'm glad I destroyed it. There are journals worth reading after the person is gone. Mine was not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like it when my boy naps.

Especially when those naps are long. I have time to get things done.

This morning he did not take a morning nap, so after music class, we had lunch, and he crashed on the way home. He was a limp little boy as I wove him out of the car seat and carried him up to bed. Where he is still, at 5 p.m.

While he was asleep, I worked out, "going" 5 miles on the elliptical machine. That, of course, was after I set up the TV and DVD player so I could watch DVDs while I worked. I made a pile of phone calls, including one that I have been forgetting and putting off for lo these two months or so. I organized another section of the garage (an ongoing project). I broke down some boxes in the basement. I wrote some important emails. I worked up a sweat.

I think it's time for a certain sleepy boy to get up, though. I'm starting to get lonely.

:)

The Boy had a birthday. He is no longer a baby. He's a year old now. Crazy to think that just a year ago he was small enough to cuddle onto Daddy's arm and rest his head in Daddy's hand, that he barely knew how to be, that he was just meeting us and we, him, for the first times.

Now he's a big kid. He has things he likes (wheels, dogs, fish, books) and things he doesn't like (mommy going out of sight, boring car rides, ads on the radio). He likes to sing and talk and play, and has words he says, like "Mamama" and "Dadada" and "Dog" and "Fish".

And now he's a year old. (This is a preview of the birthday pictures, soon to come.) He had pictures taken in honor of the big day, and then the day arrived!

Most of the fun waited for evening. Some friends joined us for the obligatory birthday cake and presents, and Mark did not disappoint us in his joyous reaction to the cake. (Video will follow; I'll include a picture now.)

Perhaps you see a spot of icing in his hair. He was encouraged in patting his head by dear aunties Ericka and Melissa. When he did, and we all laughed, he cried, poor child. Friend Cara was hoping for some icing in the nose, as she did as a child. He did not disappoint in this either.

Gifts were opened, cards read, bows and paper played with. He toddled around the room, occasionally with no one's hand to hold, and then got worn out, and it was off to bath and bed.

Happy Birthday, Mister Sir, and many, many more. :) We couldn't have picked a more terrific little guy to call our own.

A year ago this weekend, we were trying to think of things to do that wouldn't be too far from taking off for the hospital if necessary (and we were hoping it would be necessary).

This year, it was Mark's first trip to the zoo. We spent only about an hour and a half there, as someone's naptime lasted a little too long to dedicate the whole afternoon to all creatures great and small. But I get in free, thanks to my employment at one of the greater Indianapolis area's cultural meccas. So only daddy had to pay. :)

We got tickets for the 4:30 dolphin show, so we had an hour to soak in all the excitement -- zebras (warmly viewed), giraffes (pointed at them with awe, including the new baby giraffe, pictured on the right), and probably the best, the lorikeets. In the lorikeet exhibit, the public may purchase food to feed the birdies. Apparently another small child got tired of his, so Mark got to feed the birds. This was a nice up-close adventure as the birds were right there, and Mark liked it a lot.

(This is a lorikeet.)

Then it was off to the Dolphin Adventure show. Unfortunately, this was the last show of they day, scheduled only on days there are a lot of people, and had the "second string" dolphins and dog as well. Mark was fairly interested in the dolphins but not for really long. There was a little boy next to us who he played with a little. But all in all, a fun time.

Then it was off for supper at the Old Spaghetti Factory. Yum yum! Mark found a girl to play with while we were waiting to be seated, then ate a whole jar of carrots, half of a big jar of apricots, and then the food came. I think he ate more spaghetti than his dad. :) Fell asleep on the way home and is fast asleep even as I write. Good day!

The baby made his debut as a historical interpreter yesterday for our annual Country Fair as an 1886 baby (Mark Stone) out with his mommy Alice for the Agricultural Improvement Society Fair and received rave reviews both yesterday and when he returned today in the glorious sunshine (instead of the chill of Friday).

He talked to the guests. He played with the children. He ran off with his Auntie Laura and had a high time, even finding a wonderful stick to play with for a while. He talked to the chickens. (Auntie Laura swears he said "Bawk" back to the chickens when they clucked at him, which is a possibility. Twice.) He LOVED the music of Saxton's Cornet Band as they played Civil War music on their period-appropriate instruments, and bounced, tapped and clapped along to the music.

And did I mention he was CUTE?

My fans are clamoring for a new blog entry. I didn't realize just how long it's been, but what I've had to say hasn't been worthy, I don't guess. But enough of that. It's story time.

Mark likes to sing along. I was singing "La la la" to him today and he was singing back, a sweet and tuneless "la la la". As his doting grandma can attest, his la's are excellent. We were taking our evening stroll (only seeing one dog, I might add) and I was la-ing and he was la-ing back.

This afternoon before his nap we were reading a story and I pointed out that the lady in the picture was waving bye-bye, and wouldn't you know, there Mark was, waving bye-bye. TOO cute, even though it is my own kid and I'm partial. And I had the page of the local paper that showed the dogs, cats and rabbits available for adoption at our local animal shelter, and offered to show him the dogs. He grabbed the page and sat on the paper staring at them.

Then of course, there are keyboards.

Please note what the child's feet are barely touching. We are operating from Grandma AJ's philosophy with Daddy: DON'T MISS THE PICTURE. You can get him down later. :)

And the computer keyboard, too. We thought, perhaps if he had one of his own, he wouldn't try to go for ours so much. So Grandpa Larry donated one from the collection. Mark seems to like it. And today, I sat at the computer and the only havoc the boy wreaked was by grapping small cords with his toes...

All right, fans. I hope this will do for now.

What a day to have a kiddo. Mark got to go to the nursery this morning during church after carrying on through the WHOLE children's sermon. The person giving the sermon (a very nice mom of 3) said he should have come down front, because her group was pretty quiet. It would have at least been some talking. Another of his friends at church said she'd have sworn he was singing. She was right. He was. At the top of his little lungs. That's my boy...

There was a small insulin emergency at the back of the sanctuary at the end of service, so off we went to the congregational forum in the fellowship hall. Fun times for all. Lots of changes, rocky times in the church these last several months, so it was a meeting designed to "clear the air." Our 4-year-old friend Olivia was with us as her mommy (who has the spiritual gift of mercy printed all over her) was helping out with the emergency in the sanctuary, and Olivia, well, wasn't. So Olivia and Mark gave ME an excuse to step out of the meeting. I had to take them somewhere to play, you know.

I took the two kiddos down to the nursery, where we joined quite a hoarde, along with another pair of adults -- who weren't scheduled to be in the nursery for the 9:30 hour either. There were LOTS of kids there who had been funneled OUT of the sanctuary to make room for the paramedics and to take embarrassing attention away from the sick man. So it seemed a good idea for me to stay. Mark got to swing on the swing, I helped supervise the playground, all was good.

We stayed in the nursery until Olivia's mommy came to take her home (and reported that all was okay with the diabetic friend). Then two reponsible and helpful young ladies came to the nursery to help out (me when I was that age, and a sidekick) and Mark and I headed back to the meeting.

We slipped in and joined Tim at the side, and Keith began talking about the plans for building. Things had been pretty tense. There were some difficult things that were being addressed, some hurts, some concerns, indeed. They were still tense. We'd only been in there a few minutes when Mark (wonder where he got this?) started talking -- loudly. All the men who go to Saturday morning Bible study know Mark -- and his voice. Keith stopped in mid-thought and said "Is that Mark?" and everyone laughed.

We left shortly thereafter as the meeting was winding down. As we went by Keith, I apologized for my boy interrupting him. "Ah, we needed the levity," he said. "It was perfect timing."

"Out of the mouths of babes," commented a former council member and current mayor of our fair city. "He knew just when to start talking."

Hmmm. Wonder where he got it?

How long does it take for a baby to empty a Kleenex box? About 2 minutes and 15 seconds, on the first try.

kleenex box.wmv (5.41 MB)

Choose the smaller image if you're on dial-up (mom and dad). It's a smaller file.

kleenex box small.wmv (724.99 KB)

Mark is systematically emptying the CD stand in the family room. He takes a CD case off the pile, examines it, and determines whether it's worthy of a lick or not, waves it around over his head for a minute or less, then puts it on the floor. One has remained in his lap as a "reference" item: it is a CD without its case, but in a clear sleeve. He's pretty sure he should be gnawing on it. The top of the CD has five small images of lawn jockeys and grooms in circles at intervals around the surface. Because they are round, they are to be played with. Very exciting.

He talks to some of the CDs. Apparently some are more worthy of conversation than others. With about 20 CDs on the floor, however, it's now time to abandon them for another fun item -- the venetian blind on the door to the porch. It is fixed in place at the bottom, so he can play with it, make it make its distinctive sounds when he flips the ends of the blinds, and yet not destroy.

Too bad this poor kid doesn't have any toys to play with.

It reminds me of his poor deprived mommy and his uncles with they were small, not a toy between them. (Well, maybe not...)

Mark and his parents made their first trip to the Indiana State Fair yesterday to partake in the glories of the season, and quite a day it was.

The young master began his experience with not-enough nap, but was able to rally his strength to take in all the sights -- including tanks showing the selection of fish in Indiana's streams, rivers and lakes -- as long as the wearer of the backpack (which supplied Mark's ride) didn't slow down for too long.

There was a less-than-successful side trip to view the "VOICE Xtreme Freestyle Motocross" show, featuring the Balls of Steel Stunt Team. Stop that snickering in the back row, boys, the item in question is a large steel "cage" in a spherical form. I am certain no other meaning is intended.  Unfortunately we didn't last long enough into the show to see such a spectacle, as the noise was more than the young lad could take, and tiredness was only exacerbating the issue.

We strolled through some exhibits, just as long as no one had to wait too long for mom & dad to move on, tried to sit down for a little bit (tired feet), were fortunate enough to see part of a style show in which old ladies showed off their lovely painted sweatshirts.

Finally we found something that interested the young master -- a nap, albeit brief followed by big horses running around in a ring and lots of wonderful gray-haired people all around. We saw some Percherons and some Clydesdales compete, and then we had to head home.

Mark loved watching the horses, squealing and clapping and bouncing with excitement as they did their thing (I picked the winner in both classes we saw in their entirety). Everyone around oohed and aahed about how adorable the cheering baby was. Fun was had by all. Well, fun and a pile of delicious fair food (though no deep-fried candy goods).

The Dunce, always to pick up on the latest trends, has once again done so in finding his ideal U.S. city.

Naturally, it is up to me to hurry up and do the same, lest I be "out of style". Unfortunately, what this does is tell me that I still will never see the Dunce or Mrs. Dunce even if they were to take any of the list's suggestions.

The other thing it tells me is that I'm not doing too badly on my own at finding where to live.

Without further ado, the list:

1. Bloomington, Indiana 

2. Cincinnati, Ohio

3. Overland Park, Kansas 

4. Springfield, Missouri

5. Grand Rapids, Michigan

6. Ann Arbor, Michigan 

7. Duluth, Minnesota 

8. Charleston, South Carolina

9. Muncie, Indiana 

10. Kalamazoo, Michigan 

11. Battle Creek, Michigan

12. Cleveland, Ohio

13. Olympia, Washington  

14. Toledo, Ohio 

15. Iowa City, Iowa 

16. Tallahassee, Florida 

17. Omaha, Nebraska

18. Indianapolis, Indiana 

19. Ames, Iowa 

20. Biloxi-Gulfport, Mississippi 

21. Columbia, Missouri 

22. St. Louis, Missouri 

23. Jacksonville, Florida 

24. Minneapolis-St Paul, Minnesota 

 

So I picked decently well, but I should never plan a big move, I guess. Hope to see the Dunces when they pass through between their exciting town picks!

I'm not sure how parents go about raising readers in their homes, but mine did extraordinarily well, and so did Tim's... well, at least with him. (Dan's not so much of a reader but way more of an imaginer, so it's all good.) And I feel strongly that Mark be a reader too.

Perhaps we're off to a good start. The other day I caught him quietly reading a book while the world went on around him.

 

 

 

 

Please note that in the first picture, you can't see the rooster, and in the second picture, you can. This is because he was flipping the flap that covered the rooster, up and down, up and down. No rooster -- there's the rooster! No rooster -- there he is! He'd also go to the next page and open the barn doors to see the cow, then close them, then open them, happily absorbed in his wonderful book. Unfortunately, along came mommy and the camera to interrupt the play. But it was toooooo cute to pass.

What use is a neighborhood pool if you never use it?

With that in mind, yesterday the boy and I got all dressed in our swim gear, blew up the new pool toy and headed to the park -- only to be greeted with an empty pool due to thunder off in the distance. I am all for safety, so I had no problem with waiting 20 minutes after the thunder to get in... except when 15 minutes into the wait, there was another rumble. We waited and played in the park and went exploring for about an hour, then played in the pool for about half an hour.

Today was sunny and hot and another perfect opportunity. After a good nap and a reasonably decent lunch (no food-spitting), we went off.

This is the new whale toy that Mark got to use today. And in the baby pool, it was amazing.

The underside of the toy has a seat for baby to "sit" in, with leg holes too small for anyone to fall through. Mark is just tall enough to stand on the floor of the baby pool and let this thing support him, and off he went! He cruised around the pool, around and around, splashing, chasing after other kids, trying to take a car away from another little boy (a four-year-old, who was a little mortified) -- mommy did make him stop. He also left his had on his head the whole time, making the above picture slightly inaccurate. (The baby looks surprisingly like Mark as is. And of course the thin and shapely mommy looks just like Mark's mommy, too.)

Imagine my surprise, however, when we're playing, cruising around the pool, having a high time, and I hear "Hi Mark!" from right behind me.

Yes, indeed, Mark has friends who recognize him. Unfortunately for Mommy, however, my recognition skills failed me. Turns out it was the sweet little boy across the street. How'm I supposed to recognize him outside of his yard?!?! He's a grade-school aged boy who really loves little kids and always talks to Mark when he's out playing in the yard and we go by. So we played with Corbin for a little while -- Corbin doing funny things trying to get Mark to laugh -- and then he and his mom had to go home. Next time I hope we'll recognize him first (very embarrassed blush).

The poor baby could hardly hold his head up on the way home, and he went off to a nap as soon as he got out of his swimsuit and swim diaper. I hope he gets a good nap -- he's gonna need it!

The Little Boy is 10 months old today. Ten months! I can hardly believe it. Today he babbled with his tongue and blew spit bubbles and talked and crawled and ate pizza (yes! he ate pizza, cut into tiny bites and then the cutting was disregarded as he shoved handsful into his mouth at once until Mommy removed all but a couple pieces from his plate at a time) and tried to climb up over mommy as she sat on the floor and played with his toys and wore his jeans again (it was nice and cool) and went to the grocery store and even got an "I've been Krogering" sticker.

The cashier scolded the bagger (an older man who always talks to Mark) for giving him the sticker -- "He's too young for that" -- but Mark didn't even pull it off and put it in his mouth. I think he didn't notice it was there, because Carmen (the bagger) was talking to him. He got to give it up before naptime though.

It's kind of crazy to think that in two months, he'll be a year old already.

They say time flies. I doubted it. I was wrong.

Where has it gone?

Whew!

After upwards of 2000 miles, six different beds, nine night times and eighteen naptimes -- observed or otherwise -- for the baby, six states, innumerable rest-, gas-, and diaper-change stops, one massive rain storm, and four very patient and friendly pacifiers, we are home from our grandparent-visiting trip.

Mark has proven up to the challenge and took it like a real sport. He was better in the car than we could have even hoped. He slept well in the hotels once we thought to cover his pack-and-play with a comforter from the hotel bed to block out the light. He ate everything he was given (sometimes with more eagerness than others) and only massively threw up on mom twice. Neither time was very convenient, I might add, and both times were orange.

And while we are not big fans of the pacifier from day to day, and do not let him have them except to sleep, they did become a small tool in the toolbox of ways to calm him down. his favorite thing is to have one in his mouth and one in each hand, and then to switch pacifiers every few seconds -- I suppose to keep them fresh? Yesterday in the car he had one in his mouth and was fast asleep in the car. He reached up with one hand and took it out, then reached the other (empty) hand to his mouth to replace it. He stayed asleep, but spent a little time funbling around the missing pacifier before dropping his hand back in place and going to sleep. Too cute.

Mark spent a great deal of time charming people -- and grandma and grandpa's house, at the churches we stopped at, at rest stops and restaurants, on the golf course -- yes, he was in fine form. We couldn't be prouder.

Nor could we be happier to be home. :)

Mark is in hog heaven. Seriously. We're on his first trip to see his Grandpa and Grandma in South Dakota, and he's been a trouper. Starting with a 16-hour drive, spread out over three days, including weird bedtimes and strange eating arrangements, it seems to all be worthwhile now that he's getting to play with Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandma plays peek-a-boo with him in the kitchen, chasing him on all fours around the kitchen island. The laughter rings throughout the house. Then Grandpa takes him outside to play. (Then he samples the cat's food...again.) Then Grandpa helps him walk around, and Grandma reads his books to him -- even though #7 in the adding book is 7 rats, Grandma's least favorite thing in the entire world.

Everyone thinks he's adorable, and of course, he's been on his best behavior. Hurray!

Mark’s first visit to the buffet was very successful, especially in terms of value and quantity. After strapping the boy into his high chair, he was treated to a plate full of delicious samplings from the buffet.

He got 3 slices of peach, a slice of pear, 2 helpings of macaroni and cheese, ¼ c. shredded cheese, 1 whole roasted sweet potato, green beans, watermelon, spaghetti pieces, candied yam and apple, and two crackers.

He happily sat in his chair, tucking away the food, eating with two fists, shoving it in before he’s finished with the last fistful of food.

He ate with glee.

He ate with gusto.

He ate with great gastronomic gladness.

 

The second visit (the next day) was also a success.

He had peaches again, pears again, a big scoop of macaroni and cheese, more shredded cheese, another whole sweet potato, spaghetti with sauce, peas (most of them got dropped beside the chair or on the table beside the plate), and a few slices of beets. And crackers again. And a bite of banana pudding, with which he was not impressed.

 

The next time they see us coming, they’re going to take down the sign that says that kids under 3 eat free.

Off I went, leaving Tim to tuck Mark into bed, going to the store to buy milk. We were out.

No one joked (in my hearing) "I wonder how many bags she'll come back with."

No bets were taken on how many extra things I would return with.

No one even checked to make sure my alphabetized and categorized collection of coupons was at hand.

But the diapers were on sale, in addition to the coupon I had, and if I bought them (for more than a couple dollars off), I also got a free bottle of baby lotion, which is good because Tim just tossed out the original bottle we got as a shower gift from Ericka, Mel, Mer, Laura, and whomever else was involved.

And I really like the Dove products (in the health and beauty aisle, not the chocolate one, though I like those, too), and when you get a reputable deodorant (that actually works) for $1, that's always swell.

And I used a coupon for the baby snacks (also on sale besides) and then on top of that got a register coupon for the same on my next purchase of them. Can't beat that with a stick, huh, dad?

And peaches were on sale and so was the milk and the 6-pack of RC (see, Tim got something out of the deal, too).

The only difference between me and the Great Shopper is that everything I bought, we'll use. I bought no Fish Sauce, no grape leaves, no indeterminate canned item. Nothing had the price written on it in magic marker. And nothing seemed to be dented, already opened, or past its expiration date.

And I don't actually have a sorted coupon collection. Just a handful from my pocket.