We are back from our Disney World vacation. We had a wonderful time in spite of a few ailments. I still have a lot of work to do around this joint, so I can't spend time blogging, but I must share with you my favorite part of our trip.

These are hand cut silhouettes. The artist looked at my kids while they wiggled and they jiggled in their seats and she used a pair of scissors to cut out their profiles. No special lights, no overhead projectors, just one woman with some black paper and scissors. It was amazing! She said only 60 people in the United States can cut silhouettes this way, and we found one of them in the Magic Kingdom.

Lucky us!

This is Tank-Tank.

Here is Sissy.

And here's the babe, my sweet little babe.

My Wonderful Life

Seven years ago vanity and an healthy fear of weight gain brought three girls together. Warped senses of humor, good listening skills and a fear of blackmail has bonded them for life.

Wow, did I have an awesome day. It really couldn't have been more perfect. It all started with a visit with two old friends (old as in young and beautiful looking friends I have known for a long time). We try to get together once a month, and usually we go out for brunch. Today we decided that brunch was the last thing we (read: our thighs) needed and that what we really could use was a little exercise.

First we walked three miles and a new(ish) friend, Linda, came along, too. All you former Girl Scouts, sing along with me now: Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other's gold. Whatever that means, I don't really know, I just sang along with the rest of Troop 349 because Mrs. Patterson scared the living poo-poo out of me. I really wanted to be a cheerleader, but Mom allowed me to join Girl Scouts because we only met once a month and cheerleading had several practices a week.

After the brisk walk we returned to Vic's house to eat a well balanced breakfast. I brought along my favorite cereals. Whole wheats? Check.

Everyone contributed something. Kerrie sliced the strawberries. Fruits? Check. Vic had some fat free milk. Dairy? Check. I think.

It was delicious. Kerrie and I ate all of our cereal and tipped our bowls to slurp our remaining milk (well Kerrie didn't, but I did). Vic said she was "stuffed" and couldn't have another bite. It must have been that Saltine cracker she ate earlier.


Aughhh, Vic? I thought you were "stuffed" and couldn't eat another bite? Is that a Bloody Mary your making? Oh, I see, it's the homemade kind. That's my favorite, too.


That Vic, she wants to make sure we get all our veggies, too. She loves us! She really, really loves us! (Name that actress.) Vegetable group? Check.


Kerrie retired to the back deck to drink her Bloody Mary. Please take note of Vic's cocktail table. It is the newest and the cuttingest-edgeiest (these are new words, look 'em up). I know you are going to want one. It is all the rage in California and in Europe too. Some people call these new fangled devices ironing boards, but those people don't know what the hell they are talking about. This is a cocktail table for only the most Vogue consumers and will soon be featured in House Beautiful and Architectural Digest. Vic had one first.


O.K. fine. It isn't really a cocktail table, but I feel sorry for Vic and I am trying to play it up for her sake. She's just a teacher and can't afford all the new, latest and greatest furniture. But the ironing board is cool.

Vic, Kerrie and I first met over ten years ago. Although we had mutual friends and knew each other for about three years, it wasn't until we decided to start walking together (Spring of 2001) that we became great pals. Before children (B.C.), our walks lasted over an hour. We were committed to five to six days a week of exercise. The brisk workouts sometimes ended with a long lounge in the hot tub, a margarita or a cozy dinner in a restaurant. Before children, I said. I am sure that I have not had the full one hour walk-relaxing cool down-post alcoholic beverage experience since my first born was delivered. That was over six years ago. Today I had the full experience and I only have one thing to say:


Let the countdown to liberation begin.
I have 17 years, 3 months, 2 days!

Vic has no children. Because she has no children and Kerrie and I have 5 (combined), we like for Vic to host any get togethers we have. At her house one is less likely to twist one's ankle on a Lincoln Log. One is also less likely to have one's ear drum blown out while minding one's own business. And her toilet seats never have tee-tee on them. It's very nice. I used to secretly wish that Vic had kids. Now, I am secretly glad that she did not. So here I leave you with

The Top Ten Reasons Why I am Glad That Vic Has No Children.

#10. Her house is so quiet that it is disturbing (in a good way).

#9. She spends all her lowly teacher's salary on posh clothes and designer shoes and she never minds loaning them out to the poor peasants (namely me).

#8. Her Christmas list is short so my name is kinda near the top.

#7. We can play her Wii without having to share a turn with any snotty-nosed punks.

#6. Her house is really quiet.

#5. By sharing my motherhood stories with her I reassure her of her decision to skip the child-rearing phase of life and move straight into the travel and self-grooming phase of life and thus make myself very valuable to her justifying her existence. And she really loves me for that. And I love feeling loved and valuable to someone. Someone who is an adult. Someone whom I do not feed and whom does not technically have to love me back. It's nice.

#4. She doesn't have to go to Wal-mart and I am happy for anyone who does not have to go to Wal-mart.

#3. She gets to drive a two-seater and when she takes me places I get to ride with her. And sometimes I stick my head out the window and my tongue falls out of my mouth and I pant. I'd sit on her lap while she is driving but she won't let me.

#2. Her house is like crazy quiet.

#1. If Vic had kids her refrigerator wouldn't look like this and that would be a real waste of cold air.

p.s. When she saw me taking a picture of the refrigerator she wanted me to mention that it is not clean right now. By "clean" I think she means the bottles are not all facing the same direction? Maybe it is for the better that she didn't have any kids after all; those kind of neurosis probably don't need to be passed along.

And my wonderful day wasn't over yet and I have so much more to tell you, but I am tired and I am a mom and I need to go to bed so that tomorrow I can wake up and love my kids more than I thought was ever possible and I can love them more because I spent a few hours away and I missed them and I want to see them and hold them and then send them to school so we can start the whole process over again.

Spring Day at Memaw's House

Today we went to our favorite museum and then to Memaw's house. For Sissy and Tanky, it was the ideal Spring Break day. For me and Sam, it was perfectly exhausting (but nice all the same).

It was on this bench that Pat and I spent the majority of our first date. It was supposed to be a lunch date, but the hours rolled by and we couldn't leave the bench.

It was two years later on April 5th on this very same bench that he planned to propose marriage to me (again on a lunch date to the same restaurant), but this time it was a homeless guy that didn't want to leave the bench (what is it about this bench?). It will go down in infamy as the bench on which Pat did NOT propose marriage to me.

This is what we do at Memaw's house.

Doesn't she look like a Grandma in her rocking chair admiring the handy work of her grandchildren? Actually she isn't admiring, she's just thinking: I hope they clean up this mess; I have bridge next week.

Patrick thought this "wall" could keep Sam out of his play area. I don't think it would pass inspection, but who needs inspectors?

Everyone loves Mom's backyard in the Spring time. Here's a little sample of what you are missing.

How's that for a point & shoot? Not too shabby if I do say so. Thank you, Lorie!
Interesting...

Mom's known for her ferns. Some people like them so much that they steal them in the middle of the night. I don't mean a "cutting" of a plant, they steal the whole dad-gum plant. I guess that's flattering, but she would prefer a nice note, I'm sure.

And here we have a Watch-a-ma-call-it (that's the scientific name - in Latin). These are rare and endangered plants. And difficult to grow, I might add.

Honestly, I am not very interested in these plants, but as you can see in the photo above, the longer I act interested, the longer I get a free baby sitter. Look at her try to wrangle the 25-pound sack of potatoes. She has no idea what's going on. "Mom, what do you call this plant? Ohhhh, I seeeeee. How interesting. What kind of fertilizer do you use? Mushroom compost, you say? Now mushroom compost, is that chicken or cow manure? Ummm. Mushrooms? You don't say!"

Now this I am interested in. It is a sweet little bird house on Mom's kitchen window sill. (Is it seal or sill. Oh crap. I have no idea. Maybe I 'll hold a poll. Shoot. Don't tell anyone what an idiot I am.)

Looky looky inside. Aren't they sweet.

Ashley, do these cute little eggs remind you of anything? Do you and Mom shop at the same poultry farm/bakery? Gross.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Wearing Halloween shirts in April is accepted around here. In fact, I think I kind of like it. He has a mind of his own and doesn't mind ridicule. Besides, it is far easier than wearing your PJ's to school in December.

We are planning a garden. That is P-L-A-N-N-I-N-G, one T shy of planting a garden. A week ago I was watching The Food Network while folding laundry and the idea occurred to me. If I have a garden, I may not have to go to the grocery store as often. That would give me more time to watch TV and blog. Genius. I know what you are thinking, a garden takes a lot of time. That's what a reasonable person may consider, but I, on the other hand, am much more impulsive.

After this initial garden revelation my mind ran away with reasons to plant a garden this year. I'll share a few with you.

My top ten reasons to plant a garden:

Number ten. I had a garden when I was single. It was so much fun and it landed me a good husband. Now it is time to pay up because I misled him into thinking I was industrious, hoaxed an engagement out of him and he hasn't had one fresh grown vegetable since. Scurvy has set in and his lack of iron gets him rejected at the blood bank.

Number nine. Child labor is cheap.

Number eight. With a recession looming over us, this garden may be our only source of nourishment.

Number seven. My folks had a garden when I was growing up. Their folks had a garden when they were growing up. It's tradition and I am all about tradition. Especially the traditions of spanking your children, hiding your loot in the china cabinet and drinking heavily on weekends.

Number six. Maybe my kids will eat more vegetables if I let them eat stuff they pull straight out of the dirt. They tend to like food off the floor better than off their plates anyhow.

Number five. I already have the dirt, what more do I really need?

Number four. Sam is hungry.

Number three. What would Martha do?

Number two. I'm running out of reasons here. Just why am I growing a garden?

And the number one reason to plant a garden is: Have you ever been to Wal-mart with three kids? I can not stress this point enough. The second we pull into the parking lot my kids' noses run with green snot, their flip-flops fall off and they become barefoot. I start swatting at them and the Wal-mart security watches me from the camera room waiting to report me to the Department of Children and Families. Sam poops his diaper and I don't have any extras with me (plus taking three kids into that bathroom is an E-coli nightmare) so we have a green cloud hanging over us for the duration of the shopping. None of this is all that bad, but the kid-bickering that ensures is pure torture. The Geneva Convention has ruled it unethical, but since it is all self-inflicted it is permitted (but only at Wal-mart). The crying is ear piercing. Pushing a buggy that has a the big-kid attachment while carrying a 25-pound sack of potatoes on my hip is nearly impossible. Turning corners I knock off endcap displays (envision hundreds of Chapstick tubes all over the ground. This is true.). Then the cell phone rings. I would ignore it, but my house is for sale and it may be a realtor wanting to know if my house is pristine for some strangers to walk through it and use it as a comparison for the house they really plan to buy for $50,000 less than mine. So I look for my cell phone that is in my purse under all the wilted, browned vegetables that Wal-mart buys from third world countries and in turn sells to me for next to nothing while American farmers are paid by the government not to farm.

Growing a garden just makes sense to me.

I think we will have a 8x12 plat for out veggies, but I accept that this will change as we get things rolling.

Indiana cousins, please don't laugh at us. Or at our dirt. Ueh, um (clearing my throat), I mean our soil.

Or at our trees. All we can do is try.

I do want to go on record as saying I do not like the location we have selected for our garden. I do not feel it gets enough sun light. Pat is so sure it does. Although the kids are hard at work tilling the soil, I reserve the right to change the location without notice.

Pureed Sweet Potatoes and Corn are so much fun!

Even without sound you can tell he is having a good time eating his pureed sweet potatoes and corn. He'd really be having a good time if he were eating Freeze-Ahead Lasagna Primavera. I'll just have to freeze some for him and as soon as he has enough teeth...

I just stumbled across this picture below. See? They can be nice to one another. In a weird incestuous kind of way.

One Banged-up Bunny. Boo-Boo Bunny. Should I go on?

I returned to Nancy her good digital camera yesterday. Later that evening we went to the park.

I don't foresee any photography challenges with this little point and shoot Lorie loaned me.

Thank goodness she did because it would really be hard to blog with my 35mm.

Yeah, this camera should be just fine.

Happy Easter!

The Easter Bunny made it safely to our house last night. He ate the lettuce and carrots we left out for him and he brought Patrick a jump rope he's been asking for.

I guess the bunny didn't realize Kelly would also have liked a jump rope.

After we played tug-a-war (in our new swimming goggles) it was time to hunt for some eggs. On your mark. Get set.

Go!

And they're off...

Sam enjoyed watching, but really had eggs on his mind. And bacon. And pancakes.

Proud Eaters?

Tonight after dinner Patrick asked that I photograph his plate. I obliged and said, "Say cheese," while trying to get him and his plate in the shot. He objected and asked that I only take a picture of his plate. I guess I have taken a few too many pictures of food lately. Or maybe he is just proud.

(Above) His plate (with second helpings).

And then you-know-who asked for her plate to be photographed as well. Notice the licked ketchup.

We had delicious chicken nuggets for dinner that are both yummy and nutritious . Lorie, CJ will love these and he'll never even sense they may be good for him. I promise.

Who Needs to Rock When You Can Roll?

Guess who has started saying Da Da yesterday? He said it three times. Once to Pat after some serious coaching. Then to Patrick and later to Kelly. I guess he knows better than to call me that! Afterall, I am the one who feeds him.

Don't these silent videos remind you of some old Little Rascal episodes?

Happy Birthday Bruce!

Happy belated birthday to my brother, Bruce. I've watch it approach on the calendar, but let it roll past. I love you.
Thanks for always smelling good and for laughing at my jokes. It is my goal in life (at least when you are around me) to make you laugh because I love to hear it so darn much. You have one of those laughs that is just music to my ears. I know I'm not the only one because I've discussed it with other people and we all agree!
I love you!
K

It is nice to finally see a kid appreciate something he has. Patrick got roller blades for his birthday and he really likes them. In fact, we have to force him to take them off inside the house. These ones are cool for mom's too because they are adjustable; they fit shoe sizes 1 to 4, and since Patrick is a size 11 these skates will - cross my fingers - last him his entire life. I highly recommend them to any parents in the market. They are cushiony and comfy yet they strrrrrrrrreach to fit him later. He just wears socks (unlike the Fischer Price ones you wear with tennis shoes). These even look cool which is a top priority for hip 6-year olds. They are made by Schwinn and sold at Target. I think they are called "Shark". They cost $30. There were some roller blades at Target for $15, but since these will be his last set of wheels until he buys his first car, I splurged! Ha!

Do you think he will still appreciate these skates when he is finally a size 4 and entering college?

Come on Baby, Light My Fire

To my knowledge, Pat has never read my blog. That suits me fine because if he doesn't read it he can't ridicule me for writing it. He sits at the computer next to mine while I peck away at this keyboard (why didn't I take typing in high school?). He doesn't ask any questions or even make comments. For this I am grateful.

I am sure he would prefer I keep him and all his bi'ness out of the mix, but while downloading some photos from his camera this morning I found these pictures and thought they are interesting enough to share. If there are any males who read my blog they may appreciate these pictures more than the lady-folk. Don't get any fresh ideas! It is Pat we are talking about; however, these aren't those kind of pictures!

Along with the men in the blogosphere, Katie S. will like these photos, too. She expressed interest in marrying a handy-man like Pat after seeing him swing an axe at a huge stump in our backyard a few months ago. She ran around to the front porch to find me and suggested that I hurry out back and watch my husband swing the axe. She had, I guess for the first time, realized the importance of having a manly-handy dude as a husband -- and it had nothing at all to do with the chores he could accomplish around the house. If you catch my drift...

So Katie, these pics are for you (and for me) and for the men who take interest in pyrotechnics.

Pat has a new flame.

Although he's been keeping it hot around here for years, he is now a certified prescribed burner. He has always loved prescriptions and enjoys burning things so the natural step was to become a licenced Prescribed Burner.

Maybe burn-out would be a better way to describe him. Above you see his flame thrower. Below is his flame.

It's getting hot in here.

Dumpster Diving Momma

Pat is trying to teach Kelly how to ride the bike I so generously picked-up for her while dumpster diving in our subdivision. I didn't actually have to dive, the bike was propped up next to the trash. And it wasn't literally a dumpster, it was a standard trash can issued by the sanitation department. The only embarrassment surrounding the whole scenario was that the bike belonged to some folks renting a house a few doors down and my kids thought I was stealing it from their driveway. I saw the mother take it out to the street one morning while I was loading my kids into the car. I knew better than to let that bike sit there too long because I lost out on a really nice Schwinn a few months back because I said to myself if that bike is still there when we get home, it's ours! Apparently I have some trash-digging competition in this neighborhood. Damn military people! Why don't we pay them more? God must have know what he was doing when I had that last bike snatched out from underneath me, because this one is a reeeeeeeal beauty! It was barely used. If fact, I never even knew kids lived at that house until they were there for about 4 or 5 months because I never saw any children outside. Come to find out they had two kids. They must have watched their fair share of The Cartoon Network because this bike is brand new.

By-golly, Kelly isn't gonna keep it new for long. She is gonna learn to ride this sucker!

And if she can't learn to ride it...

Pat will!

For you information, the bike's family of orgin has since moved away so there is no embarrassment what-so-ever when we peddle down the street and parade past their empty house. Ummmmm, well that's not exactly true. I am a little embarrassed that Kelly insists on wearing this vintage pink and white gingham dress I found at a consignment shop and agreed to buy her to wear as a "costume". This "costume" is now her favorite dress.

Life is great!

My Teeth Don't Stink

Check out those two bottom teeth. Nevermind the strained green beans on his face; the teeth are the important part.

The better to eat you with, my dear!

And don't think he won't try it either. After about three hours if I don't feed him something he starts to chew on my ear lobes, knaw on my elbows and suck on my...well...let's just say he plans on putting these teeth to good use one day!

Until then, the strained green beans suit him fine.

Bouncy Bouncy

My visitor has loaned me an old digital camera to keep everyone abreast of our goings on here. Lo and behold, it has video capabilities. I call this little clip Bouncy Bouncy.

We Have A Visitor

We have a visitor...















she has a camera...






















can you name that visitor?