Just photos

Looky!  Crescent rolls!  As far as the eyes can see!  As many as your belly can hold, plus two!

Three strange woodland creatures I met in the woods.  Hence, the woodland creatures...living in the woods...

Also, one small ninja.

And his mom.

I hope the park ranger doesn't fingerprint the stump we left that may have been slightly, just a little, a tad, a smidge, above 12 inches.  Ahem.

The hunters bringing home their kill tree.

Hold up for the ninja who was wearing last year's snow boots and couldn't walk fast.  Also, he needed a sandwich.

"Look, Mom!  I'm on a car! Don't I look good on a car?  Can I have a car?  Can I drive the car?  Can I borrow the car keys?  See you later, can I have them please?"

Sittin' on top of the world...lookin' down on creation...


Why is everything a song with me?


There is a story about the Christmas tree.  But I have to wait another day or two before I can laugh about it.  I'm still wincing.  Also, I can't walk by without PTSD flashbacks and thinking it's going to fall my head.  So...yeah.  Later.  First I must bask in the glow of 400 mini lights.


*contented sigh*

VayKay Part Two

Beautiful winery and two cute girls in their twentys.  Or something.

This time Anna tries to escape with the munchkin.  All went well until he pooped.  Then she gave him back.

This little guy on the right?  His name is Grady.  He has always had a small piece of my heart and willpower in his grubby little fist.  He's too darn cute.  I promise him ponies and candy quite constantly.

It's a moose sighting in the pool!  Would it surprise you to no end that he has no fear of water at all?  We're talking none.  He leaps off the side, goes under, comes up sputtering and laughing.  I leap off the side, go under, come up sputtering and need therapy.  If you could get me in a bathing suit to begin with, which is unlikely.

Anna, Nonna, and Cora.  Purty, purty Italian heartbreakers.

Airianna and Gianni sharing brownie batter. Wuv...twoo wuv...that's what bwings us togever today...that, and brownie batter.

OK, if you ever need to rent a car, get one with a sunroof.  Hours of unadulterated fun, boys and girls.  Rowan and Gianni found it immensely satisfying and entertaining.  Also, it has a voice activated something-or-other-thingamabob that Mike can hook up an Ipod to and then tell it what to play.  Very awesome.  Unless Gianni is obsessed with one particular Sugarland song and demands it to play constantly, which he does.

Cora and Channing.  We met this family when our respective girls were itty bitty and their respective mothers were starting the homeschooling process.  We went to a meeting and had to introduce ourselves and give our kids ages, and when Channing's mom stood up and I realized our kids were exactly the same ages I went over and threw myself prostrate on the ground and begged her to be my friend please, because all my other friends were enrolling their kids in preschool and kindergarten and thought I had completely lost my marbles.  Lucky for me, she obliged.  However, I don't like how much her daughters grow when I don't live here and so I think I'm breaking up with her.  Channing is eleven, which sort of makes me want to curl up in a corner and suck my thumb because that means Cora is almost eleven.  Which makes me want to curl up in a corner and suck my thumb.

Silly cousins.  




Thank you everyone for a wonderful vacation.  We miss you.  We love you.  Please come visit us in Michigan - a few more kids won't even be noticeable.

Halfway thru vacation

Half gone is our little Idaho homecoming.  Sadness.  I can't be optimistic and say it's half full, it's simply slipping away by the hours like we knew it would.  Here are some photos and can I just say my thumb is sore and has the shape of the "erase" button on it from having to go through and delete all of Gianni's photography?  I have never seen so many pictures of toes, behinds, windows, nostrils, and nothingness.


This is Cora with our new carry-on piece of luggage.

We may have trouble with this lady, but she can come too.

Having fun with friends.  I heart them.  I miss them.

Once again, we try to abduct small nephews.  We got halfway to Oregon this time before Mama apprehended us.  Fishsticks.

Fun!

In spite of being told SPECIFICALLY not to grow, these two little gremlins did anyway.

Such cutie patooties.  I changed all their little diapers at one point.  Sigh.

I know you're dying for more and they will follow in the exciting follow up of the second half of vaykay.  Right now I have to go scan and print my contract from my ezine article so I can get paid my millions and billions.  Actually, I don't know how to scan anything so that's why I have a hunky assistant to do those things for me.  He's so very swahvay.

P.S.
If you are traveling with a small child, say a three year old, and he has food allergies and you can't buy him the usual suspects as far as an airport terminal snack, and you find a lovely and tiny bottle of what looks to be a delicious type of strawberry banana nectar and you give it to him at the layover in Chi-town and he drinks it all and then your husband suddenly yelps in fear and hollers to you across the plane,
"Why did you buy our son an energy drink????"
then, my dears, I will feel your pain.  And let me tell you, although I have never had an energy drink before, I can now attest to their supreme and sublime energy making abilities.  It was a night time flight.  A flight when every single person on the aircraft was snoozing.  Every single person except my hyped up Moose, who was talking so much that spittle was flying out of his mouth.  When we landed, it was 1 am Michigan time and he did the funky chicken through the airport.  When he was done with the funky chicken, he rode the luggage.  Then he talked for another 45 minutes to my parent's house.  Then he crashed.
The end.

My Punk

Reasons to love him:

He has a curly mohawk.

He has sweet coconut milk breath.

He is a great back seat driver and likes to remind me that yellow means SLOW DOWN, MOMMY.

He is addicted to playing Memory with his Go-Fish cards and they are falling apart from use.  Sometimes he cheats, so you totally have to watch him.  But other times he feels sorry for you if you're losing and he'll give you the Starfish match.

He can write the letters "A," "B," and can recognize "C," "G," and "S." 

He is a good dancer.

He is a random drive by kisser.

And squeezer.

He enjoys his birthday suit.

He demands cheeseburgers in the bathtub.

He needs someone at night to snuggle.

He has a cow if his blanket isn't on his bed straight.

He wuvs me.

photo daze

Dirty piggies and such.

The reason why I have to wash the tub freakishly often.

But he's so very very handsome, he's worth the ridiculous amount of Comet it takes to clean up after him.

Recently discovered something even better than a snack cupboard.  The garden!  The peas!

She told me to take the picture.

Again, 'Take the picture, Mom!' she begged.

Awww.  Aren't they cute when they aren't plotting ways to harm each other?

We have moved.  Again.  I feel like Mr. Fredrickson, old and infirmed.  I have spent the last 72 hours painting rooms and moving STUFF.  I have decided I no longer like STUFF.  STUFF should be kept far, far away from me.  If you can't wear it, eat it, or read it, I don't want it. 

Sage advice from seasoned group home teens:  always opt for the lower bunk.  Why?  Because gas rises.  I'm not sure I ever needed to know that, but now I do.  And so do you.  You're welcome.  More teen guy redonkulousness wisdom to follow in later posts.

photos to go with

These are my attempts at photography.

Luckily I have cute kids, because my skills are sadly lacking.

Anna, try to look up in a contemplative way!

Cora, ignore the wetness of the leaves and look adorable!

Moose, just stand still for a half a bloomin' second, would ya?

He looks like he's about ready to tell me where I can stick my camera.

So here's the news you've all been waiting for!

We're moving back to Boise!

Unless we aren't.

You're welcome for the update.

Nah really, we are moving ahead with the very, very likely assumption that we'll back in Idaho before the new year. Unless we won't be. Now comes the getting rid of everything we don't want to pack. I'm going to have to start wearing disguises at the Goodwill drop off center because they're beginning to look at me with very tired eyes and an air of dislike when I pull up in my minivan. I don't know why. I'm sure someone will be thrilled beyond belief to purchase my junk. There are some lovely size 4 jeans that mysteriously shrunk in my closet over the summer that some skinny girl will be glad to find, along with some tops that I can only assume react with the wood of my armoire resulting in a strange and unexplainable shrinking reaction.

The second generation of homeschooling is really going well. There are two stories to support my claim:

The first: while watching the film, Bolt, Anna asked if the scene in the humane society with the woman and her pepper spray was "practiced and rehearsed with just water, or was it really pepper spray that they used?"

Umm, Anna, darling, love of my life, my little punkin, it's an animated cartoon.

The second: while unloading groceries, yours truly, homeschool graduate, had bought a new canister of oatmeal. It was a smaller one that the last one purchased. The older one, the bigger one, still had a cup or so left in the bottom. I try to shake it down and consolidate so as to save me some precious pantry space, but rats, it won't quite fit. "Hey, brainless," says homeschool graduate's public schooled husband, "Try putting it all in the bigger canister."

I'm pretty sure we will be getting the cover of Homeschooling Digest soon.