It's the final countdown! (dumdadumdum...dadadumdadum!)

I have been absolutely terrible about taking photos these days, so here a few from times gone by.

It makes me want to break out in song.



Like, 'Sunrise, Sunset...'





Or 'Cats in the Cradle...'





But I might get teary.

What happened? Where did it go? Could it be that the elderly gentleman in the grocery store was actually right when he said I would blink and it would be gone?

I LOVE this one.

Anna and her Billy Ray inspired mullet.

This is the last blog written from Idaho, land of late May snow showers, before we head out to Michigan, land of extreme humidity and mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds. I don't even know which box to look in to find the shorts and tanks and other summer clothing, but I suppose it hardly matters since last summer I was considerably smaller than I am this year. Drat stress. Drat too much eating out. Drat Cheezits. Who knew the three combined would be a recipe for pudge? See that photo up there of a brand spankin new, we're talking hours old, Gianni? He has pudge. And it's delectable. Mine? Not so much. I even took up jogging for a few weeks. I swear to heaven it made me fatter.

In other news (because there is other things on my mind beside my weight - occasionally) I have also been forbidden from the camera by The Middler. My poor sprout. My punkin head. She is our hmmm, shall I say, coordination challenged youngster? I have never seen a child or adult or small animal or large animal, for that matter, bounce off walls and furniture as much as she. I think it could be a matter of not being able to do two things at once: talk and walk. And Lordy knows she certainly isn't going to give up talking. Anyway, we went hiking this past week in the mountains. I rephrase - we started to go hiking this past week in the mountains, but we didn't get too far before we returned a bloody mess. I know, I know, I am the Queen of Under supervision when it comes to letting my kids be kids and take their lumps and learn and get dirty and climb trees, etc, but to be honest I would never have endorsed what Cora and Anna were attempting to do when calamity occurred. And yes, I should have noticed, but until you've pushed a Moose in a jogging stroller up an incredibly steep mountainside, don't judge. It takes focus. Dedication. Bulging forearms and calves that moo. The first inkling I got that something had gone terribly wrong behind me was the screaming from Cora. Mike goes running back down the trail while I sprint with the stroller which was in danger of becoming Nellie's wheelchair in my favorite episode of Little House. It's Cora who's screaming and it's not your typical everyday holler for help either, it's a terrified out of her mind scream. They had decided to cross a tree bridge (a dead tree connecting one side of a 8 foot high cavern) which apparently didn't even seem a trifle bit unattainable for someone who can barely walk a straight line without tripping. So, yes, she fell and when her daddy managed to shove her back up to the trail, she was a bloody, bruised pulp of a girl. So, long story short, she's fine (and extremely lucky) but her face looks quite questionable when out in public. A huge goose-egg in the middle of her head, two black eyes, lots of bruises, and lots of red scrapes. All that to explain that she won't let me near a camera for fear I will document The Episode Of Which We Do Not Speak.

It will take us several days to get to Michigan, several days of Uhaulin it with three rambunctious and bored trolls and one severely paranoid canine. I am so excited to get there. My family and friends are so excited for us to get there. We decided to delay this whole job change thing as lonnnnnng as possible basically for their sakes: it took us 6 months of couch hopping to finally leave and as a result it's going to take at least that long for anyone to miss us. You are welcome. They've been planning the goodbyes for weeks. Sometimes they practice. But we just come back. We're like bad pennies. Or cats. Or your drunk uncle who shows up for Christmas. Just sigh and let us in.

I don't know how much I'll be able to blog about the new gig as house parents, or the new kiddos (due to laws and privacy, etc) but I will be back when I can, whenever I need to vent or tell a story or write love sonnets to my paper towels. So don't abandon me, even if I do emotionally pull guilt trips on ya when ya don't comment often enough.

That was a hint.