en faisant la lessive

The effect on the unpracticed laundry novice of merely watching me fold four loads of laundry.

He slept like this for over an hour. Imagine if he had actually helped me do the folding. I think I need a nap.

lecons de la vie

A few days ago, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw this going on in the backyard...

Somewhere along the way, L has picked up on how to swing on a swing! Just as with a few choice words he's also picked up, I had virtually no hand in teaching this to him. When I was a young mom, I used to fancy myself as the dispenser of all knowledge. Now I know way less than I used to and they know way more than I realize...like how to swing on a swing. Where did that come from? Now I often don't enter the picture until after they've learned something, and my role is increasingly reduced to confirmer and/or dispeller of everything they soak up from the world around them. I think I'm okay with this. So when L asked me this week, "Mom, is 'shet' still a bad word today?', I answered with equanimity, "Yes, 'shet' is still a bad word."

chanteur de salon

As it appears we've had a lounge singer (or two) in our midst, buying the used piano was an excellent idea.

Having two fledgling pianists (three if you count me, four if you count J) helped seal the deal.

ayant chante tout l'ete: en ville

I'm afraid I'm a bit of a lame blogger. I now find myself in a new year posting the following picture of our fair city...

...in August of last year. On this particular beautiful summer afternoon, we headed downtown for an impromptu adventure. I don't want to let this day slip between the cracks. It turned out to be a bit of family magic.

We jumped rocks on the esplanade along the river...

...while J attended to some business for church.


We explored a floating dock and let Scout off her leash.

Scout's new best friends...

Our rented surrey with the fringe on top...

Waiting to eat at a sidewalk cafe...

Crossing back when the sun started to set...

  Posting this on a gray, rainy day in January makes me long for summer.

la vie d'un chien

Drama and trauma seem to go hand in hand in our household. I know I should be used to it by now, but I swear, it still throws me. Since getting Scout in February, dog drama has taken center stage, and I can't say that I particularly enjoy the show.

There are the usual scenes: her using L as a chew toy in return for him using her as a sparring partner {bringing respective squeals of pain/delight from these "frenemies"--yes, I have two puppies}; the frequent squeals of panic from the dog as she chases the kids around the "track" in our house and can't reach them while she's sliding all over the hardwood floors {and marking them up, I might add}; or my own outbursts of frustration when I find yet again another log or puddle {luckily this hasn't happened for 2 or 3 weeks}.

Then there was that Wednesday night. Now in general, Wednesdays have been turning out to be pretty good nights this fall. Even though J is gone for Mutual, the kids' schedules are pretty clear except for activity days for C every now and then. So there's plenty of time for homework, playing with friends, maybe doing some chores, and relaxing at home as a family (well, except that J isn't here, but that's become so common that it's beginning to seem normal). On evenings like these, I relish putting on one of my darling aprons, preparing dinner at a slow, sweet pace and sitting at the table together.

Well, on that Wednesday in question, my apron was on, the cutting board was out, and I should have known that drama and trauma were on the way. After all, I don't think I'm allowed to have quiet, challenge-free days right now.

Here's the play-by-play. I tell the kids to tie the dog up outside so she can be with them. E, wearing rollerblades, tries to tie her up. She rebels, he loses balance and grip of her collar. Scout runs down the driveway into the street. She "collides" with the back wheel of an SUV that is passing by. Poor Scout whimpers and limps while running back home. E runs into the kitchen, quite desperate, begging me {with tears in his eyes, sweet boy} to come quick because Scout was hit by a car. The dog is nursing a hind leg, shaking like a leaf and is pretty skittish. I decide to take her to the vet--there's no blood, but I have no way of knowing the extent of the injuries. I pick up the dog (but not before removing my apron) and carry her to the car. I pack the kids in the car, including a neighbor kid. I drop off the neighbor kid. I call J on the way to the vet. He says maybe I should hold off and see how things are after she settles down because it doesn't sound like she's too injured. I decide I'd feel best if she got evaluated. The vet checks her out and says everything looks good, but x-rays are needed. The x-rays reveal all bones and structures are sound, but shows there are two round, foreign objects in her stomach that she has ingested. The vet warns me of chance of bowel obstruction. I okay a shot to help her regurgitate the objects. We learn they're marbles because one comes up, but only one. The vet says that the other marble is borderline to pass through her stools because of its size. The vet tells me that I have to search her poop over the next day for the other marble. If I don't find it, the vet says that $1000 surgery may be necessary to remove it from her. I pay my $270 bill which includes pain medicine and antibiotics that she never even takes because she's an even pickier eater than my kids {we tried everything we could think of}. After getting home, the dog pees in the house on the carpet. I lose it. I have to clean the mess, put some kind of food on the table, tend to a dog that won't take her medicine and is now walking and acting fine overall, and begin the bedtime routine. I never put the apron back on. The next morning, first poop out the shoot, the marble appears. I learned I should have listened to my husband: I'd have been $270 richer and without worry over the marbles which would have passed just fine on their own.

Oh, la, la.

en costume

Somehow, while we weren't paying attention, our family moved into the pre-teen world. Halloween 2009 proves it. Let me illustrate.

 Four pumpkins for four kids {except for L, they did most of the work, including the designs}...

 Four pumpkins with two kids {one baseball player & one ninja}...

Our corpse bride spent the day with a friend, coming home only to pick up her costume and make-up so she could run back over there to get dressed and go trick-or-treating with her friend and her friend's older sister and her friend's older sister's friend. Our lacrosse player went to a Halloween party at a friend's house and trick-or-treated with a bunch of his buddies. And do you think those two used plastic pumpkins like our "littles"? Why would they when pillowcases can hold more loot and be slung over the shoulder for comfort while holding the tons of candy they dreamed about? Both took off before we got out the camera.

J escorted L & S around the neighborhood, and after maybe a half-hour, S came home to hang out with me. {He said he was done. I reminded him that he'd probably want more candy, especially when his siblings would be eating theirs long after his pumpkin was empty. He told me too much candy isn't good for you and he had enough. Sometimes they do listen when I speak! Or at least, one does.} I stayed home and passed out the 600 pieces of candy I bought to try to appease the record crowd we had this year. I kid you not: I bought 4 Costco bags (someone told me there are 150 pieces per bag).  With the kind of traffic we get there's no sense in staying inside as I have to get up and open the front door every minute. So I bundled up, moved S's pumpkin to the floor so I could have its chair, put on C's witch hat from last year, and parked myself on the porch to pass out the goods. We passed out every last piece (some to our mouths) and turned out the lights by 8:00ish. {I think we may have run out of candy even earlier had not J illuminated our porch with his strobe light. While there was nothing else remotely threatening about our sparse Halloween decorations (except for the lame witch impersonation I whipped out every other group or so), I kept hearing little kids say they were too scared to come up to our door. J thinks it's good for kids to get a bit spooked on Halloween. The candy would also have lasted a little longer had I refused to drop any into the sacs of the handful of adults that came to our door, sans costume, for a handout.}

J & I wanted to hunker down and go to bed soon after, but in this new preteen world, we had to stay up so we could fetch E & C around 10:00. I know...10:00 is nothing next to what we're in for when the kids grow into real teenagers. Just get used to seeing me with bags under my eyes for the next decade.

il grandit

E was one super Cub Scout for the past three years {unofficially, so was I}. At his last Cub Scout pack meeting he crossed off his Arrow of Light goal and crossed over the bridge to join the Boy Scouts. So now he's one of them {unofficially, so am I}.

So after the meeting I asked him if he had any goals for Boy Scouts. He didn't pause a moment before proclaiming he wanted to receive his Eagle by 13--"'cause that's when Grandpa got his." Like grandfather, like grandson. Upward and onward, E!