My Friend the Fiddlehead

Well, when you're from Maine, you know well that Spring is the time of the fiddleheads. I am not, however, from Maine. I am what Mainers call "from Away". I had never even heard of a fiddlehead before I met Rob and his French-Canadian family from Maine. I probably would have took a long look at it and said, "You want me to EAT that??". But, people from The County (Aroostoock, that is), forage for their favorite spring greens in their own secret special spots in April and May. You may see people along a river bank, grocery bag in hand, hoping as they set out, for a good day of picking.

As we headed to upstate Maine for the holiday weekend, I readied myself for the adventure. I had already planned with Rob's mom to accompany her on a trip out to see if we could get some fiddleheads. Saturday morning, we got up, got our plastic bags and donned our grubby sneakers. We drove out to her spot (Mainers guard these locations like their crown jewels), and started looking. We immediately found some, she pointed out what to look for, which ones had grown too much and so on and we started picking. It was amazing! I felt like a kid on Halloween, seeing one clump of fiddleheads and running over to it, picking excitedly. We worked our way to the bank of the Aroostook River and saw a whole slew of perfect picking. Quiet settled over us and we bent, quickly snapping the heads off the stem, steadily filling our bags. One hour and 15 minutes later, our bags were filled to the brim, our backs were stiff and achey and I had been feasted on by the bugs. But we had a huge crop to bring home! A trophy from my first fiddlehead expedition! I felt proud as we lugged our loot from the woods, headed home, our hands black with dirt. We got home and had to clean them, which I learned was a very tedious job. fiddleheads are covered in a thin brown skin, much like an onion, that you have to get off before washing. Then you wash... and wash... and wash... and wash again.

I am home now. I came back bearing two big bags with me. Yesterday I spent a good chunk of the afternoon blanching, cooling, packing and labeling my precious delicacies. I have a good amount in the freezer for later in the year and some more in the fridge for this week. I don't dare admit to anyone that they are not my favorite, though, lol. They kind of remind me of asparagus or spinach. I'll eat it, but I'm not DYING for some fiddleheads right now. Hell, if you put some cheese on it, I'm good. If you put some cheese on anything, I'm good. The whole thing was worth it, every minute. I learned a lot, and I got to experience something that a lot of people do not. fiddlehead Season in Maine.

Oh, Say, Can You See...

...every fricken kid in the neighborhood is at my house?? People, a word of warning: If you put up a swing set in your yard, you are sure to attract children, like bees to honey. The swings went up Saturday. Saturday afternoon, Max was chatting over the fence to neighbors I've never met, inviting them over to "hang out" and play on the swing set. Then, he yelled out to another neighbor, "Come on over!!". By Monday evening, we had children from two different sets of neighbors playing over and Max had met a new friend riding his bike. Guess what? He came over, too. Now, I'm psyched to meet our neighbors. I like that my boys have close proximity to playmates for the summer days when they're bored and sick of my company. I just fear that we'll never be alone again... ever.... I know I am probably getting a little ahead of myself, but you don't know my son. He invites EVERYONE over. Last fall we stopped into a local pizza joint/bar to pick up some pizzas for dinner. While I'm paying, he strolls over to the game of pool that's going on and tells the young guys there that he has a pool table in his basement if they ever wanted to come over and play. They laughed as my face washed over in horror and said, "yeah, but we like to have a few beers while we play". No problem, answers Max, my mom's got the beers!! Again at the local IGA, we're grabbing some marshmallows for a little campfire one night and Max addresses the cute girl running the register: "We're having a fire tonight, wanna come over?" She giggles and invites all the other cashiers over to see how cute he is. Max is all business, he wants to know "what time they get off work". I'm not kidding, my 5-year-old son is working on teenage girls here! I guess I should just relax. The swing set is paid for and it's assembled. The boys have friends to play with and I don't have to lug them over to anyone else's house. I have a pool table in the basement and plenty of beers and if I get desperate, there are some hip young dudes down at Mustang Sally's that I can use Max to wrangle into coming over. For some beers of course.

The Boy Who Spits Everything Out

Wee Beast likes to take things for a taste-test before he commits to fully swallowing and digesting his meals. It drives me crazy. I am constantly harassed for snacks all day by both my boys, only to find half-chewed or sometimes (worse) fully-chewed food in piles around the house. Whether it be a string cheese that he decided wasn't worth the effort of finishing, or the banana, that's flavor wasn't quite what he'd hoped it'd be, I'm getting tired of sickly snack stashes. On our deliciously warm Saturday last weekend, the boys had a picnic lunch on the deck, in between rounds of splashing in the water table. Miles decided that his peanut butter and jelly sandwich wasn't fit for consumption and settled on squishing it to the deck boards with his bare feet in sweet satisfaction. This utterly grossed out our little girl neighbor who immediately rushed over to me to inform me of every yucky thing my little boy was doing. I shrugged, being tied up in a swing set assembly, and told her "who cares", it's just a little squished sandwich, I'll get it later. Well, later turned out to be Monday morning, when Miles rushed into the house whining. He was frantically trying to brush something off his tongue, and looking at me in horror. I noticed a pile of vomit-looking crud on my coffee table. I looked at Miles. I looked at the deck slider door ajar. I wiped his tongue off and offered him his juice. What was that Miles? Yucky stuff, he offered. I was racking my brain as to what the hell he ate, when it occurred to me.... shudder... Did you EAT that smooshed sandwich off the DECK?? Yes, he said calmly, it was yucky. I'll give you all a minute to gag. Apparently, when yucky things are stuck to the deck, you go outside and see how they taste. Sometimes, they taste yucky and you spit them out on the coffee table. I went right outside and literally had to scrape the damn thing off with a plastic shovel to get rid of it. Ick. But, spitting things is not always limited to yucky things, either. Like the string cheese and the banana, perhaps he just gets tired out after exerting the energy to chew. This morning he stuffed a 1/4 of a bagel in his mouth and then neatly proffered it up 20 minutes later in a small scale model of Mt. Greylock on, of course, my coffee table. Now, those of you who know me, know how anal I am about cleanliness. I have no excuse for the jelly sandwich, a.k.a., yucky stuff. It just escaped me with a busy weekend. And before you hesitate to set your coffee on my table, rest assured, I clean it.

When Life Deals You Blueberry Pie... Smear It On Your Mommy's Bed

We are full swing into the terrible two's right now. Actually, most days, Beastie's not that "terrible", just plain naughty. Case and point: I was folding laundry in the dining room about twenty minutes ago and he emerged from his brother's room wearing a fully-satisfied smile. He stopped and looked at me. "What did you do?", I ask him. He runs for it. I investigate into Max's room to find that Miles has torn apart a goody bag from a recent party Max attended. He had about five chocolate coins in there, which looked like a wild animal had torn apart. I mean, there was gold foil and bits of chocolate strewn all over that bedroom. Next, I noticed the package of sugar. You know, the little pack of sugar that comes with a sugar stick to lick and dip, lick and dip, lick and dip... until your child is in a sugar-induced coma. Whoever invented that delightful little treat deserves a nice smack upside the head. I digress. Miles has indeed gotten into THAT as well. I clean everything up, hoping to high heaven that Max doesn't notice that his beloved goodies have been eaten. I go to find the Beast who I still haven't seen since he made his initial gettaway. I find him laying on my bed eating blueberry pie. BLUE...BERRY... PIE. I shriek, and in that minute of busted-ness, he decides to hide the evidence by way of smearing it into my brocade comforter. Sweet lord have mercy, it's my worst nightmare. Blueberry juice smeared into my bed. Now, you're perhaps wondering what terrible mommy doesn't notice that her son is sneaking blueberry pie from the kitchen? My head just spins at how fast this all went down. He was stealth. He had pinpoint accuracy. He's a man with a mission.

Thus is life here in the Jordan household of late. Miles is my handful and Max is along for the ride. After weeks of Miles climbing out of his crib, we decided it's just plain silly to have him sleep in a crib. Isn't the point of a crib to safely confine a child? Miles just uses it as a jungle gym. His new "big boy" bed will be here this week. I shudder to think of what hell he can raise if he doesn't have to exert energy climbing out of his crib and he can just stand up and create mischief.

So, there's your update on Miles. Think twice before you make that blueberry pie. I know I will.

I Wanna Be a Ghost Hunter

A few weeks ago my favorite t.v. guys appeared in person at the Eastfield Mall. Like a true fan, I entered into the meet and great contest, but alas, did not win. I did drag Rob and the boys to the mall that day, determined to see my buddies in person and perhaps even pay for an overpriced item they were autographing. However, we arrived to the hub-bub to find a line that stretched down the mall corridor beyond my view that wound up spiraling around and around the food court center until at last it reached the table where the guys stood shaking hands. That line must've been hours long. I looked despairingly at my two children, an antsy 5-year-old in search of a "good deal on pants", and a ticking timebomb of a 2-year-old, determined to break out of his stroller and run shrieking like a lunatic down into the nearest store to break something. I sighed and gave up hope of personally shaking hands with my most favoritist of favorite t.v. show people and snapped some shots on my camera... I think Jason actually looked my way in this pic! Anyhoo, that's my story on how close I came to meeting the Ghost Hunters, and in the end my antsy 5-year-old did, in fact, find a good deal on some pants!

Reconnected

Recently the boys and I were invited to lunch at a friend's house. She hadn't met the kiddos before and was commenting how much they looked like me. She remarked that they looked just like my baby photos. Her mom chimed in: "You remember Cat's baby photos??". Yes, Jenna said, I do.

Jenna and I have "reconnected". After years and years apart with no contact, we are friends once more and getting to know these little people that each of us have created. She is someone who knows so much about me, but nothing about the last six years of my life. Interesting, isn't it?

I was later telling Rob, once we'd gotten home, the earlier story of the baby photos and he raised his eyebrows and said: "She remembers your baby photos??". Yep, I said, she does. He didn't realize, but aside from him, Jenna probably knows me better than anyone else. Truly. We were friends from the third grade through high school and on. She gets my sense of humor, she knows what will make me burst into tears and what will make me pee my pants laughing. She pierced my ears, died my hair, painted my nails and sang duets with me. She was my BEST friend.

And now, we are getting to know one another's children. We are planning a dinner so our husbands can meet. We are laughing together again. Amazing what God and life can bring us, isn't it? Or should I say, bring back to us.

The Ladies Restroom

I saw this on a chat board I'm on and it spoke to me. I wanted to share it here. This is not my work, but it is dang funny.

Ladies Restroom Visit

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance. "

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.

You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat -- because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.

You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them.

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

. . .This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse, and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Gonna Make You Sweat

Yeah, I guess I'm stealing from C&C Music Factory (I think...?) with that title. It all starts with Rob picking out a sexy new elliptical Machine for our Christmas money to be spent on. Now, to be honest, I was a bit ho-hum about the purchase at first. I was completely awed by his urge to get exercised and all... but I was like drooling at the idea of a fattening dinner out or more "stuff" to add to all my other "stuff". However, if someone in my family has a hankering for getting fit, I support, dude. I even decided to jump on the bandwagon. Or... err... Elliptical. Here's where things get interesting: I.... LIKE IT! Really, honestly, truly. It makes me feel pumped. I head downstairs for my "me" time, crank up the Rage Against the Machine and let the drops of sweat fly! So, here I have finished my allotted time to become beet-red-in-the-face and sweat, and I even have enough finger strength to bang out this blog! Ok, it's a weak blog, I admit, but it's an update for all you blog-hungry fans. All two of you. Consider yourself fed. I'm gonna go pass out in the shower now.

Whoa, It's Winter

We live in New England. It's supposed to snow here. I gave up around the holidays, and resigned myself to the fact that we were going to have a brown Christmas. Recently we paid a visit to an old friend about an hour's drive from here. She had about an inch of snow on the ground. You'd think Santa himself was camped out in her back yard. The boys were salivating looking at it, and the second their seat belts were unlatched, they plunged their pudgy paws into the ice cold fluff. The excitement was pulsing around them. When Max got bored with the female chit chat and the toddlers "mine, mine" banter, he excused himself outside to throw snowballs at the house. Snow is late in coming this year. It's gone beyond "oh well" to "what the hell??". Finally, we got a dusting though. Yesterday we woke up to a few inches and I managed to get the boys out of their jammies and into clothes and socks and snowpants and hats and gloves and boots before they rushed out the door. We managed to get several runs down the hill in their sleds before Miles received several flesh wounds to the face and my toes were cold. It's the end of January and we are just now tasting this sweet sweet snow. For the love of God, what does it take to get a Nor'easter in Massachusetts??? And for those of you who gasp and say, "Don't jinx us!!"... well... JINX JINX JINX, I want snow!

Whoops-A-Daisy

Well, we begin the long process of potty training. Yes, what you see there is absolutely a little poop. I figure, better on the floor in front of the toilet than on the living room carpet, eh? It's close enough to the target. On his second try for the night, you will be happy to hear that Miley did, in fact, make the target and received much applause and hooting. There was much rejoicing. What can I say, poop makes me laugh.

Hey! I'm Alive!

Well bloggies, I am indeed alive and well. Although, "well" is a relative term, I have a chest cold that keeps me awake at night and is thoroughly irritating to me. I had experienced some technical difficulties with the old blog and thought the whole thing was lost. But, thanks to my dear friend Danish (love the name, makes me hungry) at Blogger Help, problem is resolved, blogging has resumed. Fear not, for there will indeed be more blogs!

So, tuck your tissues back up your sleeves, I have returned and vow to be blogtastic!

Sweet Surrender

Sure, Sweet Surrender is the scent of my deodorant, but it's also an inspiration. There are many things I must simply surrender to. I have to "give".

I put up our outside Christmas lights today. Sure, some of you may wince and say I'm crazy, "Christmas already?". We like to turn on our outside lights on Thanksgiving and I was getting a start on it while Miles was napping today. I had five sets of those retro colored lights. Lights I remember from childhood. Lights that make me think of "A Christmas Story" and Charlie Brown. I love 'em, and I was stringing them on the shrubs outside, working on the final strand, when they all went out. Hmm... Chevy Chase moment you say? Why, yes it was, in fact. I was thinking "Oh God, Rob was right, I strung too many together". Nothing makes me wrinkle my nose and say shucks faster than having Rob "tell me so". He informs me that the fuse on the first set is blown and proceeds to replace it. Exactly four minutes later it blows again. This is where the "told you so" part comes in. I surrender. They are hung, they are strung, they are staying put. How we get around to powering them up for the big switcheroo on, well, we'll figure that out later. I give.

Last night we brought the boys to Build A Bear to .... well.... build a bear. They each had birthday money we set aside for this treat and I was sure they would love love love it! I had heard that this endeavor could get a bit pricey, so I waited till the birthday season when lovely Grammies and Grampas send checks. We were armed with cash and revved up to stuff the life into little bears. We got there and instantly Miles was overwhelmed and in his own land far far away. While there were about thirty different animals to choose to stuff, Miles was intently focused on a pair of socks at a nearby display. I held up three choices for him, which he looked at carefully and dropped on the floor. Hell, the socks were far more interesting! Finally, I picked a cute little dog for him that he had showed a minute of interest in. Max was armed with his cute monkey and we headed to the next phases, sounds and then the stuffing machine. Whatever we had to do, Miles was busy somewhere else, caring less what we wanted him to enjoy. Max was at the perfect age and loved every second of it. His monkey is decked out in fabulous black jeans complete with wallet chain, a fleece hoodie, sketchers sneakers, joe boxers and even his own battery operated camera phone. He was a little pissed when I made him put the safari hat and mini guitar back and pointed out loudly as we were leaving that he REALLY wanted that miniature hockey set for "Eric". Miles, well, we were lucky to get him interested in one Cookie Monster t-shirt for "Doggy" and Rob grabbed a leash for him out of desperation to get him something. We checked out and my total was $93. While Max dug it, Miles was not going to participate in my forced birthday fun at any cost. We got home from dinner and I said "Here Miley, here's Doggy!!". Miles looked at this white fluffy dog and launched him across the room with a final "NO". You just can force love. I surrender.

Today my little Miley turned two. My little baby is a baby no more. I don't know where the time went, all I know is that it kicked me in the ass on the way by. How can Miles be walking and talking.... climbing and jumping.... yelling "POOP at the top of his lungs in the grocery store...? How can he be such a little dude when it was just YESTERDAY I brought him home and watched his big brother cradle him in his arms? How can he be climbing up on the bathroom sink for a drink of toothpaste when it was just YESTERDAY that I was nursing him to sleep after a feast at his first Thanksgiving dinner? I don't know...I surrender.

Tis the birthday season here in the Jordan household. The boys have had their fair share of gifts and cake (more on the way tonight! Whoo Whoo!). Today however, there was a guest of honor at Miles' birthday. Thomas the Tank Engine. Many of you do not know Thomas yet. I admire that. I miss that, really. For Thomas has become a member of the family in some ways. Miles has become... shall we say... obsessed? He got a new train set, a Toby character from Thomas and Friends, a Thomas Aquadoodle Mat and a Thomas coloring set. There was not ONE blessed thing today that did not involve our new friend. Even the scrumptious cake on the agenda tonight is a Thomas cake. Got Thomas questions? Ask away, we are on the way to being experts. I am typing this to the faint sound of the Thomas theme song playing on the t.v. upstairs. I am drooling at the thought of eating that Thomas cake. You know what? I surrender.

Sadness Understood

Last Thursday morning our brother-in-law, David, passed peacefully at his home from a long illness. His wife, Sharon, had nursed him daily for months and endured an amount of stress I cannot even fathom. He leaves two boys, ages ten and six. We spent several days with Sharon and the boys trying to help in any way we could and be supportive.

What struck me is how resilient children can be. All the kids played happily together, as if it was any other weekend visit. Laughter and the normal bickering, and running around the house ensued. The adults dealt with their pain and sadness in other ways; there was plenty of beer, plenty of tissues, plenty of consoling words. I witnessed some touching moments over the course of that sad weekend. Something struck me deep, though.

Max was talking to his cousin Evan:
"Are you pretty sad about your Dad, Ev?"
"You know, his body was just wore out and couldn't hold on anymore."
"But, it's ok, cause he went up to be with Jesus."
"Hey you know what? I got a new pack of Pokemom cards we can trade!"

In the minute it took for those words to unravel on our end of the phone, I realized that kids do know what is going on. They just deal with it differently. They aren't tactless, they are honest. They are blunt, they are sincere. David's body did just wear out and David did go live with Jesus. It couldn't have been said better.

Oh the Mystery

This morning was like any other morning. Rob was getting out of the shower in our bathroom, I was lying in bed trying to wake up, and Max was quietly playing Game Cube until it was time to turn on the news for Mommy. All was quiet from Miley's crib. Then, Miles saunters into our room with a toy, hops up on the bed and says "Pway Mommy". Rob looks confused. "How did you get out of your crib Miley?", he asks. I shrug, Max says he didn't help him and Miles is too busy with his shape sorter to be bothered by such interrogation. So, the news of the day is that my barely-two-year-old climbed out of his crib for the very first time today. That is a feat, I might add, that my eldest never bothered with, as he was supremely happy in his cribby. I will have to keep a close eye on this monkey so I can catch him in the act. Oh Lord, is it time for a big boy bed ALREADY?

Five years ago

Five years ago, my life was suddenly redirected. Five years ago I stopped being able to up and leave the house spur of the moment. Five years ago I stopped having a good night's sleep. Five years ago I started being "on call" every moment of the day. Five years ago it became socially acceptable for someone to throw up all over me without so much as an apology.

Five years ago I held a baby boy in my arms and wept at what we'd created. Five years ago I started feeling the joy of being needed. Five years ago I felt a purpose in my life for the first time. Five years ago I became a mom.

Max turned five yesterday. It was a big day! For both of us. I am a mom and I have two children! Whoa. Some days I have this overwhelming feeling that I am screwing everything up around me. That I should be doing things better, being more patient, parenting better... Then I reflect that five YEARS have passed and we are all just fine.... better than fine. We are good. I have survived momhood for five years and my little boy is happy and healthy. I never gave him a complex feeding him with bottles and he didn't die when he rolled off the bed at five months old. (YIKES). TV didn't rot his brain (yet...) and a bee sting wasn't the death of him. So far I've been able to answer all his questions without too much difficulty. So far I've been able to heal all his boo boos. I thank God that we have each other. Five years of this!

I am a mom. I have been a mom for five years. I've been blessed with love.

Adventures with EasyLock

You know, whenever you see something that says it's easy to figure out, easy to install, easy to do-it-yourself.... it's all a lie. Nothing is ever as easy as it's supposed to be. Nothing ever goes as planned. Nothing is ever simple and straight-forward. Oh, wait, perhaps that's just at our house.

Since we bought our home here in MA, we have dreamed of the day that we could rip up the ratty old carpet in our dining area, and replace it with something waaaay more practical and, um, clean. We planned to tackle this project last weekend and purchased our supply of laminate wood flooring. I suppose I should clarify... Rob planned to tackle this project as I am a self-proclaimed nitwit when it comes to home improvement. Seriously, I can paint fairly well and I can use a drill to install curtain rods. I do not reach beyond that scope, I know my limits. Anyhoo, Rob said "this would be easy", "should go quickly", and many other reassuring quotes that made me feel secure in starting the weekend. Friday night we ripped up said carpet. God-awful, disgusting, dirty, smelly job that was. (People, let me just start by saying, if you have asthma or allergies, GET RID OF YOUR CARPET). We had things fairly ready for the following day.

Then things got interesting. Turns out EasyLock is not as easy as we all thought. There are things that took way longer to figure out. Hallways are not easy to do. The instructions they show you are of a plain square room with no doorways or trim work. Bastards. After a whole Saturday of cursing and wrangling boards in the hallway, Rob finished a 3x5 area. Now, let me say that there were many cuts to be made and many odd sections to be finangled, it was a lot of work for poor Rob. Then, Sunday we kicked EasyLock butt. I joined in the fun because I feared Rob would torch the pile of flooring he had left. That, or let out a stream of obscenities in front of the children that would sear into their brains for the rest of their lives. LOL. I actually learned quite a lot and it wasn't so bad working as a team.

To update, Rob is now finished with the floor and all the thresholds. He just has to put trim back up and we are all done. Overall, we have faced much, MUCH worse projects that went askew, and the end product looks maaavelous dahling. There were just some things we learned about ourselves and projects that are "supposed" to be easy to install. First, it's better to be a team. Working alone can be frustrating and having a second pair of hands and second opinion is valuable. Second, never EVER listen to all the hype, it's never going to go as smoothly as they say it will (unless you are a skilled laborer). Always plan for an extra day of work even if you think it will only take you one.

So, there, that's the EasyLock story. We have done our first major DIY project here at the new house and I can already see that Rob is going to be the floor nazi about the dining room. No throwing toys on the new floor, no wearing shoes on the new floor, no horsing around on the new floor, no swearing around the new floor, no bad energy near the new floor... ummm... I digress.

One last note to all you do-it-yourselfers.... if we can do it, you can too.

Yes, it's true, I have THAT much money!

I do, I have soooo much money that I will throw away over a hundred dollars without a thought to a few kiddie rides, one over-hyped water ride and some darned expensive Coke. Throw in some torrential rain, a wild thunder and lightening show with four children under the age of five and you've got some FUN FUN FUN! Read the full story at Milkweed Hill!

Thank goodness we joined up with good-humored family for this outing, otherwise there is the strong possibility it could've sucked. I mean it, we had a nice steak dinner with some wine once we were all home, dry and had the kids in bed. Here's to next time Ernie and Kay! Let's do Santa's Village instead, ok?

Did I Ever Mention...

...that I have an addictive personality?? I get hooked on anything new I try. After having a relapse on smoking for the past several months, I finally did kick that silly habit of two or three sneaked smokes a day. Rob sighs with relief, for it totally disgusted him. Now, however, I find myself gripped with a new addiction. Knitting. I signed up for a knitting class for the month of September and last night was my third class. Apparently, knitting is one hot hobby nowadays. I don't know about being trendy, but I do know that I am hooked on wrapping tiny yarn around big sticks. It's very very soothing and makes a great companion to enduring Calliou for the third time of the day. I now know how to "cast on", straight knit, purl, and "bind off". I have finished a scarf, complete with fringe! I am a knitter, baby! Oh, and I'm totally serious when I say that everyone (everyone!!) is getting a scarf for Christmas this year. (evil laugh). So, now I can add knitting to my list of obsessive compulsions.... cleaning, reading, sleeping, etc.

And, Here HE Is....

Mr. Priceless!

Here He Is....

Mr. Adorable!!