Pumpkins, tangerines, and other fruits

A freshly, brand spankin' new, four year old.

Punkin' patchin' with my punkins.


I would have enjoyed said punkin' patchin' more had my hair not been in the midst of a dying disaster.  My poor follicles have really taken a beating this week and I'm so overloaded with chemicals now that I'm surprised I have enough brain cells left to blog.  They have seeped through my very scalp, leaving me incapable of remembering my address, my middle name, and lines from The Princess Bride, all things I used to be able to bring to the forefront of my mind at a moment's notice.


Anybody want a peanut?


So, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson but I will most likely repeat my DIY hair color in a mere couple of months from now, seeing as how my hair is a peculiar shade of rusty...orangey...browny...but I love this peculiar shade seeing as how it is not black.  Black is what happened when I went to Sally and requested medium brown.


I like black.


It's slimming.


Goes with everything.


It's easy to accessorize.


It's timeless.


But not on my head.


People will argue with me and tell me I already have black hair. No, no, no.  When I truly DO have black hair you would see the difference.  When I have black hair, I look like Elvira.


When I try to remove the Elvira-ness, I end up with tangerine.


Which causes my husband, in an attempt to be sweet - either that or in an attempt to cover up his hysterical laughter at his wife's pumpkin head - tells me that Milla Jovovich in The Fifth Element is quite attractive.


Too bad Milla is eight feet tall, has an accent, and looks fabulous wrapped in mummy wrappings.  Other than that, yeah, I can see the resemblance.


In the middle - right smack in the middle! - of my hair disaster was our pumpkin patch field trip with our new group of homeschoolers.  A new group I'm trying to impress with my whole life in the attempts to make a friend.  When I'm not frightening them with my Morticia hairdo, I'm emotionally vomiting on them about how I got myself terminated from a childcare position.  I think I may have to find a new group.


Anyway.  Don't come to me for hair color advice.  I'm learning to love my chocolate covered tangerine locks and also beans and rice, which is all we'll be eating for the next month due to my $7.99 Sally Beauty Supply purchase becoming a $40 spree.  Sometimes being frugal stinks.  


In other news, I have a four year old.  Help.  Actually if you ask him, he'll say he's almost six.  Whatever, Grover.  Time to put him in a pickle jar.

a frog on a log in a bog

Have I mentioned how crazy beautiful Michigan is in the fall?

              The colors are fabulous.  And inexplicably make me want to wear plaid.

 This was the scene of our most recent homeschooling field trip.  It was a bog!  For some reason I feel the need to use an exclamation point there.  The first book Cora ever read alone was something about a frog on a log in a bog.

    This is Cora's new buddy, Emily.  Isn't she a cutie pie?   I heart homeschoolers.

Our fearless leader was a retired biology professor.  He's pointing out a teeny tiny something-or-other.  He showed me too but it was so itty bitty I mostly nodded my head and pretended to see what he was showing me.  I tried to pretend I went to college for something academic and not for the pink tutus.  I think he was onto me.

 It's like I live in a postcard.

                                                          
   This was a Pitcher Plant.

   This was me trying to be artistic, photographically speaking.

After our Thursday field trip we had our Friday homeschool co-op, where Cora got to have a choir class and gym, and Anna got have a scouting class and gym.  Did I mention how much I heart homeschoolers?

I have no idea why my print turned yellow. 
But I like it.

A couple Gianni-isms before you head off to bed:

After eating all my buffalo chicken stew with blue cheese crumbles, he said,
"Mom, give me some more bites with dat stinky cheese on it!"

After finding his shoes out in the back forty (with a caterpillar* in the toe) he cuddled them close to his heart and crooned,
"Oh my shoes, I missed you SO MUCH!"

The dominoes with the tiny dots, as opposed to the ones with the larger sized dots, are in his highly pitched voice, "Soooooo cute!"

He has been on a bathing strike for longer than I care to tell you, but I finally found the cure:  hanging him upside down by his feet and 'dipping' him in head first.






*caterpillar now deceased.

I love history

We got our first time off this month and went to the Yoop.  You know, the U.P.?  No?  Yeah, I didn't know what anyone was talking about either when they referred to this.  Turns out there's this part of Michigan called The Upper Peninsula which is basically, but not really, Canada.  You have to cross a five mile bridge over the tippy tops of Lake Huron and Lake Michigan to get there, AND you have to pay a toll so it kind of feels like you're entering another country.  Anyway, we went there for a couple days and of course, knowing us, turned it into an educational field trip for our offspring who we forget to homeschool half the time.  Here's what we learned:

When you use a spray-on sunscreen, don't be fooled.  You still need to rub it in, just like you would the regular ol' lotion type.  Why?  Because if you don't you will end up with a sunburn in the lovely pattern of a lace doilie or knitted afghan. 

Other things we learned:

There's a fort called Michilimackinac.  It's the longest on-going archaeological dig in America right now; they've been digging it up since the '50s.  It was built in the 1700s, so we're talking colonial times, people!  My favorite time period!  Now I have an uncontrollable urge to watch my very favorite movie ever, The Last of the Mohican's.  I can hear Daniel Day-Lewis calling to me actually...No matter where I go, he will find me.  No matter how long it takes...no matter how far.  Sigh.  I could watch that movie everyday and not get tired of it.  But anyway.  For a mere $30 we got to spend all day inside the fort, soaking it up.  The fort was originally built by the French and was used for the fur trade (getting all those beaver skins back to Europe for high fashion was a major trade) via the lakes, which were the international highway of the time.  After the British overtook the French during the French and Indian War, the British got their redcoat rumps kicked by the Indians who were annoyed by the British lack of gift-giving (the French were good gift givers it turns out).  During a game of Baggatiway, which is like lacrosse, the Indians "accidentally" hit the ball over the fort walls and the British didn't think twice when they rushed in to retrieve it.  The Indian woman pulled out knives from underneath their skirts and blankets, handing them to their men, and after a large handful of soldiers met their fate and the rest were captured, the point was made.  Afterwards, the British remembered to give better gifts and friendly relations were resumed.  Well, until the next war: the American Revolution.  Right around that time, the general decided the fort was not super well protected and for two years, they dismantled it and sailed it (summer) across Lake Huron, or sledded it (winter) across Lake Huron, to Mackinac Island.  What wasn't worth taking was burned so the French couldn't have a comfy place to camp out while they plotted and planned their attacks.  So what didn't burn completely is what they're digging up now.  The rest of course, is replicas.

A typical hearth.  Imagine keeping this going 24/7 because it was also your oven and stove top!  And then imagine you're wearing a corset and skirts that each have three yards of material in them.  Interesting facts about the clothes: by the age of 7 the girls made their own, and by the age of 9 the girls made all their younger siblings as well.  Because the washing and scrubbing on a washboard would pop off buttons, the women would snip off every single one EVERY SINGLE TIME they did laundry, then sew them back on.  This is why the ladies clothes had less buttons and more ties and ribbons.  I guess the saucy flirty look was just an added bonus. 

Moose in a tri corner hat.  I am concerned about how shy and introverted he is.  Should we seek help for that?  It must because of how unsocialized and weird us homeschoolers are.

Part of the fort.  See the bridge in the background?

Also shy, my girls.
And short.
Oh, if you were shorter than 5'6" you couldn't join the British army.  Unless you 'promised to grow.'  True story.





So, that's the story of Michilimackinac (silent C at the end).  Actually, that's only some of the story, but I forgot to grab a brochure on my way out so I'm going on my flawed memory.  That concludes the history part of my blog, at least for now, and until the next field trip.  If you're hanging around for a math or science blog, you'll be waiting a loooooooooong time, my friends.  The very thought sends shivers down my spine.

Just another benefit to homeschooling:





You can take a field trip to wherever you want! Yes, my children are standing in front of the Budweiser logo. At the Anhueser-Busch factory.

One of the famous clydesdales! His name is Darth.

The famous carriages. Sleighs. Coaches. Whatever. They took beer to Prez Roosevelt after Prohibition ended, and everyone loved them so much, it stuck.

A common sight that meets my eyes when I have misplaced the wee one. Yup, he is chewing on a cube of butter while sitting inside the fridge.

So I know you're laughing at me for taking my kids to a beer factory, but it really was fun. Of course the girls loved the clydesdales the best and were sad that no rides are offered, but the rest of the tour was surprisingly educational for them. Really! For instance, they now know more about the process and history of beer than you do, so there. Gianni was the life of the party, getting all excited with the big machines (or simply, the elevator) and at one point, attempting to take a snooze on the floor. He looked like he'd been sampling. And yes, there was sampling at the end and you should have seen Cora in the lounge, her feet propped up, a bag of free pretzels in one hand, a rootbeer in the other, watching football, cherishing her clydesdale poster, and saying dreamily,

"This was the best field trip ever!"

We still don't know where we will be living and/or working past December. We aren't stressed though. I was always married to a small, white-haired gnome, right? And if you hear rumors that a payday loan was nearly acquired in order to purchase toilet paper I will deny them. All I have to say is, thank goodness for piggy banks and dollar stores.

Our days waiting for employment news are quite long and dull (and as a result this post probably will be too). The girls aren't signed up for anything extracurricular, like the typical swimming and gymnastics and book clubs, since I didn't see the wisdom in having them make new friends only to rip them away when we move. We do have art class with the lovely and talented Miss Genesis which they started today and which made me thankful that I am not teaching that particular subject. They had homework (paint a self portrait) that they were excited to work on right after class: I have major difficulties not sticking my nose into their projects and ideas. I remember a couple years ago having them do paintings on canvases for christmas gifts: I hovered over them endlessly, pointing things out, "helping," and generally making a nuisance of myself until Cora burst out, 'Mom! Would you stop helping and just let me paint?!' Another filler on our schedule is something called Fun Night at church, and for that Mike and I actually have the homework. This week we are supposed to write down our schedules for the entire week and then carefully go through them, making sure that what we are doing pleases God. Hmmm... I'm not sure how vacuuming and cooking and bathing small children and scooping dog food out of son's mouth and chasing naked toddlers can be done in a manner pleasing to God, although I'm sure I could attempt to do them with less yelling, which would please everyone. How about trying to grease up a two year old boy with VaporRub without loosing your grip on him? If you're confused, just try that one, I dare you. Or how about when you make $40 at a yard sale and when you spend it all on groceries at Walmart, making the brilliant decision to go through the do-it-yourself check out line, thus spending approximately 100 years coaxing each crumpled bill into the cash machine, one at a bloomin' time? In between each accepted dollar, nudging your oh-so helpful children ever farther away since the blasted machines stop working any time any extra weight is distributed on them. This includes not only children, but stray eyelashes, dust mites, and dust mite's eyelashes. An eternity went by while this was happening, all under the watchful and annoyed glances from the check out clerk who had to push his magic button every time we did something wrong and who probably thought I had made interesting career choices to have such a large bundle of one dollar bills. I'm pretty sure there was praying involved at this point, so maybe, just maybe, God was pleased with me after all.