Uncle Sam (x2)

We adopted a U.S. Soldier yesterday. I thought, what better way to say "thanks" than actually SAYING "thanks"? I went to www.adoptaussoldier.org and signed us up to be matched with a soldier overseas. Our soldier's name is Zachary Robinson and he's from North Carolina. (How ironic that I also have a cousin named Zac from North Carolina. At least, that's where he was born.) We're going to write him letters and send him packages from time to time as a source of support. At least, the kids and I will. I'm not sure about Heath. I haven't had a chance to really mention it, yet, so I'll get his input tomorrow. I think the kids will really enjoy having another person to write letters to. Especially someone who is a soldier "like Uncle Will". If he actually gets time to write back they'll be even more excited.

My younger brother, Sam, (Yes, he's Uncle Sam.) had an open house/graduation ceremony today at my mom's. Since he technically graduated from both the local high school AND home school, he didn't get an official ceremony or diploma, so our mom made up one of each. Yeah. She's creative like that. The kid deserves it though as hard as he's worked. Taking college classes at fifteen. Hmmm. Now who does that remind me of? He took it farther than I did though. I was too busy living in my head to take advantage of my educational opportunities to the fullest. The harder I was pushed, the more stubborn I became.

Sam has done well in spite of all the cat food Will and I made him eat as a child. In spite of all the times we made him run in front of us just so we could trip him. In spite of all the times we held his arms so Nicholas could beat on him. Hey, he probably wouldn't have such strength of character if it weren't for us. Besides, he was always the "good" child. What else could we do?

Mom managed to get one of Sam's professors from college to come out to the house and hand him the diploma she made up. This idea had mortified Sam, but I think it went well. I think his professor was really flattered to have been asked. Mom also made Sam give a speech (Boy, am I glad I graduated at school) in front of everyone. He did really well with that, as well. Of course, several of us missed part of it because Perrin was behind him trying to get into a parked car. Presumably, to go for a drive. He looked like some kind of Munchkin car thief. Leave it to my kids to provide a distraction for any occasion. I must get them trained before Will and Betsy's wedding or I fear something truly embarassing will happen.

Random

Did you know that the odds of dying from a fall out of bed are one in two million? Did you know that the odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eight million? (As near as I could find.) So, in theory, you are more likely to die falling out of bed than in a plane crash. Weird, huh? I'm still trying to figure out how ANYONE could die falling out of bed. What kind of bed are we talking about here? Is it on the third floor of a building next to a large open window? Maybe people break their necks falling out of bed, but how is that possible? Is it morbid that I'm even thinking about this? I mean, I GET dying in a plane crash. Makes total sense. Falling out of bed? I may need to do some research on this statistic. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep in my bed again until I know the truth.

The kids and I got to pet one of the garter snakes in the yard today. It was slithering into the edging around one of our trees so I figured it was safe to let them touch it. Thank goodness the thing couldn't turn around because Perrin pinched it's butt as it vanished into the edging. I doubt it appreciated that. We also found the snake's shed skin in the grass nearby and played with that for awhile. It was fun for them to see its scales up close. You could even tell where the eyes and mouth were. Then they ripped it into pieces. I don't understand this need for destruction they have.

**ETA**

So, I've been "researching" the odds of death in various situations for an hour or more and the only real conclusion I've come to is that we're all going to die. Big surprise there, right? It makes for some interesting reading though. Who has the job of compiling these statistics? Do they just read death certificates all day? I still haven't really found an answer for the falling out of bed question, but I'm guessing that statistic pertains mostly to the very old or very young. I'm not going to have to sleep on the floor after all. I'm going to risk tempting fate and sleep in my bed anyway.

According to an article in TIME magazine, taking risks is due to base instincts from our prehistoric days. Does that mean that people who take more risks are more driven by their base instincts? Does that mean their brains didn't "evolve" as far as those of us who don't take so many risks? Who is more intelligent, the one who does the hunting, or the one who gets the other to do it for him? Survival of the fittest? Personally, I'd rather be smart than fit.

I've written all this and I still have no idea where I was going with it. It's hard to concentrate when you keeping getting interrupted. I can't even remember how I got started on the subject of the odds of dying. Oh, wait! Yes, I can. It was on MSN's front page this morning. That led me to www.brainofbrian.com and all of its random fun. One of the philosophies of the website claims that Barney (the big, purple dinosaur that was hiding in our upstairs bath) is the devil. I agree that Barney is evil (I must go cleanse myself and the computer after writing that name.), but the devil? Really. Some people have too much time on their hands. Too bad they can't share it.

I'm going to stop wasting time with random thoughts and try to do something remotely productive now.

I YIELD!

I YIELD ALREADY! (*sobbing*) I can't take the vomiting anymore! Whatever I've done to incur this wrath, I'm sorry! I'm so VERY, VERY SORRY! It's just not fair! I can't possibly have done anything so horrible as to deserve this! PLEASE, make it stop! PLEASE!

No, I haven't been drinking (but that sounds like a good idea) and I'm not hungover. It's not even me that's been vomiting. At least, not yet. Just about the time I fell asleep for the third or fourth time last night, Perrin puked. He'd been up twice already crying and the second time I just let him climb in bed with us. I knew he'd been bordering on feverish all evening, but was hoping for the best. I heard him gag and just as I rolled toward him he puked IN MY EYE. He also managed to get it all over himself, his jammies, both of my pillows, the sheets, and my hair before I held him over the side of the bed to puke on the floor. Why the carpet, you ask? Because the bedspread is "dry clean only". This somehow managed to wake Heath up and I passed Perrin off to him (not before Perrin touched the bedspread with his pukey hand, though) and he lifted him from behind and headed toward the bathroom as he puked a SECOND time leaving a trail of puke that happened a lucky drip on one of the "dry clean only" throw pillows.

I stripped the bed down and threw everything in the wash while Heath hosed down the baby. (This may be a good time to mention that I felt awful for the poor kid.) I had to find the spare sheets for the bed (not the "real" spare set, but the "it's-okay-if-you-puke-on-these" set) and another bedspread in case the fun wasn't over. Sage green sheets and a multi-colored striped bedspread REALLY don't look good on our bed.

Everybody eventually settled back down and Heath and Perrin fell asleep. As I was on the verge of joining them, the kittens showed up. They are nothing if not persistent. They kept climbing on Perrin's head and trying to eat my hair no matter how many times I placed them gently on the floor. I finally had to get up and shut them out. About the time I was nearly asleep again, I heard Abby start crying. (Seriously?) I got up to coax her back to sleep. Again, I tried to go to sleep. Enter the thunder and lightning. All of the upstairs windows were open. I got up AGAIN (I've lost count by now) and closed all the windows enough so the rain wouldn't get in, but we could still have some air flow to keep it cool enough to sleep upstairs. This, of course, woke Abby up again and I had to talk her back to sleep.

I don't know what time I actually fell asleep, but it didn't really matter since I woke up every time Perrin made a sound. I think I was actually getting some "real" sleep this morning when Heath's phone rang. I can't win. You can't make this stuff up. It's about time for bed now (haha) so everyone cross your fingers that things go better tonight.

The Sandbox

I want to start this post with a big "thank you" to all of the amazing men and women who have chosen to serve our country. My father, my brother, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, Heath's grandfather, and all the rest. I could never do what you have done and I admire your bravery and strength in defending a nation that doesn't always show support for what you do. Thank you.

Heath and I decided to build the kids a sandbox in the backyard this weekend. My mom had them overnight on Sunday so the time seemed right. It's much easier to assemble things without their "help". We went to the local lumberyard and bought the wood (I learned that "treated" wood is important for outdoor projects and it costs more. Being as this was my first time building anything outdoors I think it's forgivable to not have known.) and sand. We actually got a great deal on the sand. They had a pallet of damaged bags and we got enough to fill the sandbox (plus five bags of topsoil and two bags of paver base) for only ten dollars. Considering one fifty pound bag of sand costs over three dollars, I think we did alright.

Once we had the materials, we went home and built a sandbox. I honestly think yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far. Humid and nasty. Hauling around bags that were very nearly half my weight made me question the wisdom of my decision to build a sandbox altogether. Thank goodness Heath is stronger than I am or we'd have been at it all night! It really didn't take us very long to build it, but it felt like a lot longer. Not very often do I take a cold shower on purpose. I even managed to enjoy it.

We brought the kids home from my mom's and expected they'd be thrilled with the sandbox and occupied for hours, but no. They were in it for maybe five minutes and they were over in the neighbors yard asking to play on their slide. We all four spent some time in it this evening building castles and knocking them down. My castle had a princess, trees, and a unicorn. Heath's had guns. I then decided the stick behind my castle looked more like a nuclear missile as he took aim at my front gate.

In spite of their initial lack of enthusiasm, I think the kids will really enjoy having a sandbox. I realize it won't keep them in the backyard, but it was cheaper than a swing set. Not that I wouldn't love to buy them a swing set, but that's just not in the budget right now. Besides, a sandbox takes more imagination anyway. It's just a good thing the cats are indoor cats or we'd have spent the afternoon building a giant litter box. I just hope Perrin doesn't get that idea when I start potty training him...

Later That Night...

A change in music and a change in appearance later, I'm feeling more like myself. Thank you Aerosmith. Thank you Clairol. And thank you Perrin for bringing me the whoopee cushion. I swear, I'm the only person in this house who has any hint of decency when it comes to bodily functions. I must get that from my mom. She has never allowed bodily functions to be seen or heard in her house without showing her major disapproval. (Heath gets some weird kind of joy seeing how many times he can fart in her house when we're over there. It's especially thrilling to him if they're the silent-but-deadly kind and he can sit close to her.) She's even been quoted as saying "Women don't fart". Umm... Not to make myself seem like less of a lady here, but EVERYONE does it. Some of us just don't feel the need to broadcast it. It makes me wonder how she was married to my dad for as long as she was. He's so open about that kind of thing. One of his favorite tricks is the "pull-my-finger" trick. Gotta love my dad. I love my mom, too, don't get me wrong. I'm just glad I have one parent who's a little more laid back. Maybe even TOO laid back. He and Heath are constantly trying to gross each other out with their "skills". I usually have to air out the house after these battles.

If my mom ever finds out about this blog I'm toast. I try to keep the mention of my extended family to a minimum just in case, but this one could come back to bite me in the you-know-where. It may sound silly to be a grown woman and afraid of my mom, but the woman put the fear of God in me at a young age and made sure I'd NEVER forget it! Thank goodness she did, too, or who knows how I might have turned out. I try to remember this while raising my own children, but I fear I'm not doing a good job. Even my "mean" voice doesn't frighten them anymore. Not that I want them to be afraid of me (back off Social Services). I just want them to treat me like the authority figure I am in this house. At their age, fear and respect kind of go hand-in-hand, don't they? What do I know. I'm just making it up as I go anyway. I won't know how badly I've botched it until it's too late. (Cross my fingers I do all right at this parenting thing.)

Ooo... Led Zeppelin. That's nice, too...

I forgot what I was going to write. Oh, well. I suppose that means I'm done for tonight. Although, two posts in one day is more than enough. I should probably just delete the first one so it doesn't seem like I have a personality disorder. But, hey, this is my space to write whatever I feel like writing. No one makes YOU read it. Yes. I'm feeling much more like me again...

It's Raining


Ever have one of those days where you feel like you've been awake for a week and you weigh at least twice your normal weight? I'd like to think I'm not the only one. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was Heath's magical backward-moving job. Maybe it was the pharmacy insisting on a consult before allowing me to pick up a medication I've been for three months simply because the prescription was a newly written one instead of a refill. Maybe it's because there is no light switch for the dining room light. Maybe it's just the monotony of my life. Maybe I just miss Sarah. (I'm not trying to guilt you into writing, Sarah, so don't feel bad, okay? ) Maybe it's lack of money. Maybe it's lack of alcohol.

Whatever the case, I've been melancholy. I have this strange feeling that if I go back and read some of my previous posts I'll find it's not just today. It probably sounds like I need someone to rescue me from myself, but I know that's not the case. My subconscious may be trying to promote that image of a damsel in distress, but I've learned the only way to get out of this puddle I've been soaking in is to just stand up. It's never easy and it never happens overnight, but I know the way. It starts with my refusal to let it all get to me. Listening to the right kind of music and reading the right kind of books makes a difference, as well. I need to stimulate my brain with something beyond the usual garbage. Maybe check out "Philosophy For Dummies" at the library or something. Except, I'm not a dummy. Maybe just "Philosophy" for me. Wow. That was dangerously close to complimenting myself. Wait... Was that complimenting myself? Someone, please tell me, because I have a hard time telling the difference between self-assurance and vanity.

So, I dump my thoughts into cyberspace hoping that getting them out somehow will provide a kind of relief. And it does. At least for awhile. Not quite as much as talking to an actual human being, but it works. Besides, talking to an actual human being is harder. (I really need to stop listening to Cold Play for today.) Back in the day (like I've had so many behind me), I used to go to a coffee house and write poetry when I got like this. I can only imagine doing that now. Abby and Perrin would be running from table to table begging sips of espresso from total strangers and screaming at the top of their lungs while they darted in and out behind the counter. I'd be banned from wherever I went, no doubt.

I've got to stop being so open here. I'm really not a total basket case. I'm still just trying to find that perfect balance between keeping things in and letting them out. Could use some guidance there, too, I guess. You're not my therapist so I'll try not to write anymore of this crap. I might have to avoid writing at all until I get my head on straight, at least on the computer. Forgive my rantings and know that I'll be better about writing like myself again soon.

Irrational Fears

We all have them whether we admit to them in public (or even in private) or not. I, for one, can't sleep with the closet door open if I can see it. It's not that I think there's something in there that needs to be restrained. I really have no idea why. I'm also acrophobic, claustrophobic, and hydrophobic when it comes to large bodies of water (or even the deep end of a swimming pool). Depending on what I read before I go to sleep, I also tend to need a nightlight. Yes, I'm twenty-eight and I KNOW there's nothing there to be afraid of.

With all of my irrational fears, it's not surprising that my kids have a few, as well. Actually, I think Abby is pretty near normal, but Perrin... He was a sensitive soul from the beginning. He was clingy and cried a LOT. He doesn't like loud noises or the dark. Never has. Lately though, he's developed some bizarre (almost annoying) fears. The first is his fear of spiders, which, in and of itself, is not all that abnormal. What IS abnormal (at least in MY book), is the fact that he sees spiders EVERYWHERE. A piece of string. "Mommy! A 'pider!" A dust bunny. "Mommy! A 'pider!" A dead ladybug. "Mommy! A 'pider!" Cookie crumbs. "Mommy! A 'pider!" (Okay, I may have exaggerated the bit about cookie crumbs. Those he's more likely to lick off the floor.) He freaks out about there being "spiders" all over the house and I've only actually seen one in the house. He's like The Boy Who Cried Wolf. He says he sees spiders so often that I've started tuning him out.

His REALLY irrational fear is the garbage truck. Not the noise it makes. (Although, he's not fond of that either.) Oh, no. He's afraid that the garbage truck is going to take him to the dump. His eyes get all wide and his bottom lip sticks out when he hears the garbage truck (or anything that sounds like it) and he climbs into my lap and begins chattering worriedly about it taking him to the dump. I keep trying to reassure him that the garbage truck only takes garbage, not people. (I still don't know where he got the idea that the garbage truck DOES take people. Heath denies it was him.) It's not working. I'm really at a loss here. I suppose I'll just have to hope he grows out of it.

Aside from all of the spider hunting and garbage truck threatening I've been doing, I've been trying to make more time to read. This can be tricky unless I do something like hide in the basement closet or the clothes dryer (as I'm claustrophobic the dryer isn't really an option though) to get away from the kids for long enough to read more than five words. I've even been reading some non-fiction for a change. I picked a book on our trip to the library today called "Ambitious Brew". I'd tell you what it's about but I've only read the first twenty pages or so and it's about time to make dinner. It seems like it's going to be a good read, though. Not my usual subject matter, but good nonetheless. If you really want to know what it's about (Admit it. You're curious.) you'll have to Google it or Ask. I'm tired of doing all the work here.

Things I've Learned


You can learn a lot being a parent. I used to think you could learn just as much working full-time in a preschool (haha). I did learn quite a bit there, but I've learned considerably more as a parent. Allow me to share a bit of what I've learned.
The only way to effectively remove Vaseline from hair is by using corn starch. Shampoo just spreads it around.

Stuffed animals quadruple their weight when given a bath.

Apples still smell like apples long after they've become all shriveled and brown hiding in a drawer or under a dresser.

Saying something in a louder voice doesn't always make you heard.

A roll of toilet paper takes up a lot more room once it's been unrolled.

Disposable diapers are not machine washable (but they can hide well in tiny clothes).

Nothing is EVER out of reach.

My children can't hear me when I tell them to pick up their toys, but they can hear a candy wrapper or bag of chips opening through three closed doors and down two flights of stairs.

I've learned more than that (oh, much, MUCH more), but I don't want to scare off anyone who may be considering becoming a parent in the future. Although, most of them probably smirk and think to themselves, "I won't have those problems. I'll be a naturally good parent", as they read this. Well, (now it's my turn to smirk) go right ahead then. Don't let me stop you. I had every intention of being a rubbish parent when I decided to have children. (Hope you got the sarcasm there.)

Becoming a parent has also altered my vocabulary in such a way that I find myself putting words together to form strange phrases that I never would have imagined I would use. Examples are as follows.

"Get that screwdriver out of your mouth!"

"Stop licking the cat!"

"We don't fill our cups from the toilet bowl!"

"Get out of the dishwasher!"

"Your hair is NOT a tissue!"

"Poop is NOT for finger painting! Especially not on the walls!"

Okay. I'm getting flashbacks here and mentioning that last one was probably really bad luck. If only kids could be litter trained like cats. Maybe not exactly like cats (that litter box would be terrifying), but if they could learn that quickly it would be nice. Although, cats like to toss stuff around in there for awhile... Charlie was in the litter box a few days ago and Heath asked me what he was doing. I looked at him with this "are you serious?" look on my face and said, "He's going to the bathroom". He replied with, "Is he building a sandcastle?". Now, THAT would be entertaining! It's been hard enough to convince the kids it's not a sandbox.

So, there are my bits of wisdom gleaned from my four+ years of parenting. Go ahead and laugh. I mean, it's not your life, right? Seriously. Today has been a good day and I CAN laugh at myself. Although, it's usually more fun to laugh at someone else...

Lost and Found

Mood swings are a weed's worst enemy. At least in MY yard. I don't know if it's from stress (I really think I over-use that excuse) or from my hormones being all out of whack from switching pills, or something else entirely, but I've been on the moody side lately. Take yesterday evening. I officially met our neighbors to the west and they were really nice. They let the kids play on the playhouse/fort they built under their deck (how cool is that?) and jump on their trampoline. The guy is a district fire chief and knows two of my uncles and his wife works with my step-dad at the hospital. Small world, I know.

I felt pretty good after having some adult conversation even if the kids kicked and screamed all the way back home. Once inside, I put some water on to boil and started to get out the stuff for dinner. Then, I realized something wasn't right. Charlie and Lola weren't sleeping on the couch or the chair in the living room. They're there ninety percent of the time, but occasionally fall asleep somewhere else so I wasn't too worried just yet. I started to look for them and quickly lost my mind. I looked everywhere I could think of, even places they couldn't possibly have gotten into. I finally came to the conclusion (in my drug-necessitating frenzy) that Abby (on one of her many trips into and out of the house) hadn't made sure the door was closed and the kittens had gotten outside. I became this dreadful accusing mommy and told her that if they had gotten out and lost that it was her fault. Heath got up for work and looked a bit before going to work and he couldn't find them either. (He DID offer to call in to work and stay home to look for them.) Once he left, I broke down and cried for I don't know how long, all the while hearing that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me how imbalanced I was behaving. I told the kids to go downstairs because I didn't want to look at them right now. Once I managed to cry out enough emotions to regain some semblance of control, I let them come back up. Then I heard a gentle tinkling of a bell. As I reached the top of the stairs, Charlie came sauntering lazily out of Perrin's room. AAAAAAAAAH! I ripped up the bedclothes for the fourth time and found nothing. That's when I noticed the tiny space between the head of the race car bed and the wall. I pulled the bed away from the wall as fast as I could (which wasn't very fast or impressive considering it's heavy and I'm not very strong) and looked underneath it. Sure enough, there was Lola curled up down at the far end looking annoyed that I'd roused her from her nap.

Needless to say, I had some serious apologizing to do to my daughter. It's amazing how forgiving kids are. It'll be a wonder if they turn out normal with me for a mother with all my issues. These are the times when I wonder if my medication is really doing it's job or if I just need to be in therapy along with it. Most of the time, I'm fine, but once in awhile, there's an episode like this where I feel like I'm not in control and I HATE that. Especially now that I have children. I'd better get myself back under control before we ALL end up in the nut house!

So there's a deeper look at my dark and twisty soul. Thank goodness I'm not like this all the time! The weeds in my yard now fear my shadow when it falls on them. At least the fresh air and "exercise" improved my mood and my yard.

Guilt and Relief

Pippin went to his new home today. The people he's going to live with are a nice older couple (even if they can't pronounce "papillon" correctly) so I'm sure he'll be spoiled. I explained his general schedule and habits to them and they still wanted him. He'll be better off now. He deserved better than we could give him. Then why do I feel so guilty?

I knew he had to go, but I didn't think it would actually bother me like this. His perky little ears and bright excited eyes looked back at me from the lady's lap as they backed out of the driveway and I suddenly felt like crap about the whole deal. I feel like I should have tried harder, but deep down, I really feel I did my best. I just don't have the time or patience to house train a dog. My meds only help so much and with all the stress moving has brought on, I'm barely making it as it is. I also couldn't keep from seeing Paddington every time I looked at Pippin. I don't think I'll ever really get over him. I will always love papillons, but I don't think I will ever own another one.

I feel relieved that Pippin is going to get the love and attention he deserves now. I also feel relieved that he will no longer be relieving his need to chew on my Dyson or relieving himself on my floor. Feeling relief makes me feel even more guilty. The poor guy has had a wretched life so far and it's not his fault he has all those bad habits. The kids keep asking about him and when he's coming back. I really am a horrible person, aren't I?

Charlie and Lola are the only ones who don't seem the least bit sad that he's gone. (Charlie is, at this moment, trying to nip a taste of the mixed drink I made myself to unwind a bit) They seem to be settling in quite well. Charlie is a finicky eater and refuses to eat plain old Kitten Chow. It took me two days to realize this. He climbed straight up my bare arm to reach my dinner the second night and I decided he must be hungry. Now, I mix a little soft food (that stuff is VILE) into the dry and he seems to be fine with it. He has gas that even drives Heath from the room (something I didn't think was possible), but at least he's eating.

Lola is still noticeably more independent. She's just as content to sleep on the couch as curled up next to you in the bed. She isn't as fond of being petted as Charlie is, either. She's a feisty little thing. She's smaller than her brother, but I've seen her pin him more than once.

I finally got them collars with little bells on them so I know where they are. It drove them nuts at first, but I think they've finally given up trying to get them off. Either that, or they're working on a more detailed plan. Cats are sneaky like that.

I suppose I should go unpack some more stuff, but I think I'll turn on the television and finish my drink instead. That sounds like more fun.

The Naked Trucker


My kids have this weird love of being naked that they can only have inherited from their father. I don't understand it and can't really relate to it. I won't wear shoes if I don't have to, but they would probably fore go clothes altogether if they could. This probably explains why they love bath time so much. I don't feel like I've encouraged this behavior. Abby is getting better about it (although she still has to be told several times to put pants on), but Perrin is ridiculous! If I'm not quick enough with the clothes, he takes off stark naked and I have to chase him around the house. Even when I AM quick enough with the clothes, it more often than not involves a lot of kicking and screaming to get them on. Lots of fun for everyone.
So, the naked trucker pics aren't nearly as frightening as they sound. Just more blackmail pictures for me to add to my arsenal. I'm going to be well prepared for the teenage years.

New Additions

We added two new members to our family yesterday. Well, I should really say "I" because I didn't exactly mention it to Heath until after the fact. When he got up to get ready for work he found two little kittens (without any mittens) curled up on the couch. They're six weeks old and brother and sister. We named them Charlie and Lola. Charlie is black with a few white hairs on his chest and the tip of his tail. Lola is a dark gray tiger with white around her eyes and on her tummy. She looks just like her mama. She's going to be gorgeous, too, I'll bet. Charlie is the cuddly one, but Lola isn't far behind. They were both a little timid at first (and who wouldn't be around Abby and Perrin), but they seem to have warmed up now. They slept with me last night (guess I can't bear sleeping alone after all) and did really well. Charlie was curled up around my belly all night and Lola by my head. For being so tiny they sure know how to take up a bed! Charlie followed me all the way downstairs this morning like a shadow. He meows whenever he wants attention, which is a LOT.

The lady we got them from runs an in-home daycare so, thankfully, the kittens are already tolerant of kids. I still have to remind Perrin now and again that it's not polite to carry the kitties by their heads. I try to make the kids give them breaks now and then. I mean, really, who wants to be stuffed into boxes and carried around by the belly all day? I can only imagine what it'll be like if Abby discovers her doll clothes with fit Charlie and Lola!

I've never posted a video before, but I'm going to try today. Perrin just cracks me up and I have to share this one.

Tomorrow: Pictures of a naked trucker. Don't miss out!

Green or Ghetto?

I've always been a fan of the Earth. I love that it provides us with everything we need to survive. I don't know that I'd call myself a tree-hugger, but I've cuddled a few maples and dogwoods here and there. Okay, maybe "cuddled" isn't really the word. That just sounds creepy. I do believe that plants are important and I DO talk to mine. Of course, I talk to myself, too, so I'm not sure if that's normal. When have I ever been a good judge of normal anyway?

I had Heath put up a clothesline in the backyard so we could be "green" and save energy (and money) by not using the dryer during the two weeks in Iowa that it's warm enough to go outside. We had one growing up and I never thought twice about it, but I like the idea of conserving resources (and money) where possible. Heath seems to think our neighbors will think we're ghetto or redneck, but that's not how I see it. I think it's smart. We're saving energy (and money) by NOT running the dryer. Plus, running the dryer would make the house hotter which would make the air conditioner run more. We're saving money TWO ways. Heath likes this aspect. I, personally, love the way the clothes smell after line drying and I've discovered that I like taking them down, as well. Everything is displayed in front of me so I can easily decide which items to take down first so I can fold them as I put them in the basket. This is real progress since I hate the folding part of laundry.

Now, as much as I love the clothesline, I do have limits. There are certain items of mine that will not be displayed for all the world to see. Especially those that don't have enough fabric to be held with a clothespin. I can only imagine my neighbors finding a pair of naughty panties on their deck after a particularly blustery day.

*Knock* *Knock*

Neighbor: Um, hello. I, uh, found something on my back porch that I think may belong to you. (Gets red-faced and avoids eye contact while clumsily thrusting out a pair of tiny black panties.)

Me: Oh. (Wanting to crawl in a hole and die) Uh, yeah. Thanks. I'm so sorry. I'll try to be more careful. Thanks again.

Or, I could pretend I would be clever and witty about the whole thing and make some comment about runaway panties. That would never happen though because it would, no doubt, be one of our MALE neighbors that found them and we would both know that he was picturing me wearing them and it would be more than awkward. Or, the wife would find them and that would be a whole different can of worms I don't want to get into any better.

In short (or not), I love my clothesline and I plan to keep using it. With discretion, of course. So, if you drive by my backyard and see panties on the line, just know they're my tame ones. The naughty ones will be drying over the shower bar.

Ducklings

I finally got some decent shots of Mama Duck and the Nine today. I was out digging up dandelions (Although, I'm surprised there are any left with all of the ones the kids have brought me.) and they were taking a nap right across the stream. I'm still amazed I managed to get my camera and get back there before the kids noticed. Anyway, here they are. You can't see all of them at once, but all of the Nine are still there.

Am I Still Alive?

We are now officially moved out of our townhome. We spent all day cleaning over there and packing up the last few things. I swear that place has never been so clean, and I'm including when we moved in. Although, I suppose I have to deduct points for the marker and crayon marks on the wall of the kids' room. They're just going to have to paint over it because I tried everything I could think of (including a Magic Eraser) and only succeeded in removing the paint itself. Oops. The really amazing part? I only had to empty the Dyson TWICE for the entire townhome yet I had to empty it THREE times from only the basement here at the new house. I'm still having nightmares about that bag full of hair. Now, if only our newly cleaned (professionally, mind you) carpet in the master bedroom didn't smell like wet dog... Which reminds me, I need to call the carpet cleaners tomorrow. We did NOT pay to have our upstairs smell worse than it did BEFORE it was "cleaned".

On the bright side, I'm still seeing a lot of the animals in our backyard. I guess we haven't scared them off yet. The rabbits seem to be out there all the time and I usually see Mama Duck and the Nine at least once a day. I'm still trying to get a decent picture of them, but it's tricky. This is one of the best so far.

I've also been seeing a lot more of the snakes in our yard. I'm trying my best not to step on them, but they don't make it easy. I scared one out of the grass in the front yard the other night when I was unloading the Rendezvous. I'm more than happy to let them stay in my yard and eat all the bugs they want, but if they're so sneaky about where they are it's going to be difficult to NOT step on them. I don't want to get bitten anymore than they want to be stepped on.

Tomorrow will be another busy day, but at least there won't be so much pressure to hurry. We're here and all of our stuff is here. We just have to unpack it all and put it away. At least the kitchen is done. It's nice to have at least one room under control. If it weren't for all the help from my mom and Ed and Chris I'd probably have packed MYSELF into a box by now. I hate moving. I can't hardly catch a coherent thought in my head anymore. Guess I'd better get some sleep.

Moving Eve

Moving Day is at hand. Well, near enough anyway. I've been hauling stuff over in the Rendezvous all week to try and cut down on the volume to be shuttled on moving day, but holy cow, do we have a lot of crap! Figuratively and literally thanks to the dog (whose name is now Pippin, by the way) and his acting out. Heath and I spent all day packing boxes and I think we have most of the challenging stuff done. I've given up on trying to sort as I pack. My new plan is to sort while I unpack. Ha ha. At least I have goals.

I am such a mess from everything we've done so far. I'm covered in paint and there's a nice bruise on my forehead from where it met with the dashboard while I was trying to reach my ringing cell phone. Not my most graceful moment, but as I was not the one driving I was unaware of the oncoming dip in the road. It's actually kind of funny to me now, except when I touch the spot with my fingers when I'm trying to brush the hair from my eyes. This is my life.

I tried to get some pictures of Mama Duck and the Nine Ducklings today, but as I wasn't sneaky enough going out the back, the kids followed me and scared them upstream. It's too bad she's afraid of me (the kids I can understand) because I can totally relate to having my young follow my every move. We can relate. I'll just keep leaving bits of seed and bread out for them and hope they keep coming back. They've been here everyday so far. Now, if I can just keep the kids from trying to catch them...