Mothers' Day

So, has everyone had a nice Mothers' Day? Mothers' Day is rather a non-Holiday in our house as I, the resident Mother, think it's kind of silly and wouldn't miss it at all if it were abolished. Mothers' Day is usually a day full of frustration, obligation, fake smiles and me asking myself, "WHAT am I doing here?" Fortunately, my own mother is of a similar opinion concerning Mothers' Day so years ago we (as the only mothers in the family at the time) decided to do away with the traditional celebrations. For years we packed everyone up and went out for a picnic instead. We got to spend time together, enjoy some fresh air, hopefully have some fun, and we exchanged NO CARDS. It was delightful, a breath of fresh air.

That worked very well until my Evil Grandmother of Doom moved back from Florida. Unfortunately, she is the, "Take me out to brunch, get me an enormous card-I don't care what it says as long as it sprinkles glitter all over my Mothers' Day corsage (and there damn well better BE a corsage or I may threaten to cut you out of my will--oh yes I will!) when I open it-and follow behind me bowing your very showy thanks for giving you life every three steps we take" type. Aye me. Thus ended our merry, anti-Mothers' Day observances.


Now we're back to going out to lunch with EGOD (and, no, that's not really her, just an interesting facsimile thereof), always at an Italian place. It has to be Italian cause she's Italian and don't you ever forget it. She always harasses the waiter (until she's had a bit of wine and then she starts flirting with him--honestly, I don't know which is more horrifying to watch) and orders the same thing: pasta aglio y olio, pasta with butter and olive oil, which she has to order "in Italiano" but horribly mispronounces as a squawked, "Ah-Yo-Yo". Great ceremony is made of the exchanging of cards carefully chosen so as to avoid lying completely through one's teeth. I can never, in good conscience, bring myself to buy the ones that say things like, "You fill our days with sunshine," or "Your wise and caring spirit sustains all who are blessed to know you," or "The world has never known a more selfless, gentle soul," in good conscience. During the white-lies exchange, I'm always thinking, "These are just painted pieces of paper filled with someone else's words for which we've all paid way too much money." As you can see, I'm not a girl who needs cards. Give me something I can use. Or chocolate. That always works.

Mothers' Day on The Viking's side of the family is a bit of a farce, too. We go months without seeing them and have no real relationship with anyone but his brother's family, but on Mothers' Day we have to send these saccharine cards full of fervent, throbbing gratitude we don't really feel to his mother and grandmother. And because we don't live near them or see them on Mothers' Day, The Viking has to call them. Which is all wonderful when you consider the alternative. I cannot imagine having to spend that day (I'm sick of typing it out) with The Viking's family. What. A. Nightmare.

That being said, the kids still get into both Mothers' and Fathers' Days (Fathers' Day is marginally better than the other because neither of us have grandfathers living any longer and neither of our dads have the histrionic tendencies the women in our families tend to have), so we enjoy it for their sake and, indeed, because of them.

This year, it just so happened we were in New Hampshire and more than 300 miles away from EGOD and all our usual Mothers' Day obligations. We attended a surprise 60th birthday party for my aunt, which happened to fall on the day before Mothers' Day. So we were free to do as we pleased. It was actually pretty wonderful as Mothers' Days go. No uncomfortable lunches, no obligatory, meaningless words, no glitter!

The day started with my husband and children presenting me with a bottle of perfume that Redheaded Snippet had overheard me say I liked the day before. It smells of lilacs and I love it almost as much as I love the fact that my Snippet's little scout ears caught my casual remark and made a point to relate it to her father. Then Redheaded Snippet bade me open the thick envelope she had propped importantly on my vanity which had been grinning tauntingly at me for almost a week with the message, DO NOT OPEN UNTIL SUNDAY emblazoned upon it. She may be almost a teenager, but she's still so much a girl in so many ways. The letter read as follows (with some personal information altered to protect the innocent):

"Mom,

First of all I'd like to wish you a Happy Mother's DAY! (even though I know it wasn't that happy for you in some past years! haha!) But this year I am going to make a change to that. When I think about how much you do for me and how much you sacrifice for me, it kills me inside that I'm not showing my gratitude towards you 24/7. I'm sorry for times when I just plain old don't listen to you. The Bible says to honor your mother and father...I know I don't do that as often as I should. I want to thank you for all of the meals you cook and for keeping a "tidy" house (ha). I want to thank you for bringing me every forgotten music book or shin pad. I want to thank you for being The Best Mom in the world. You have taught me everything from little things like teaching me how to tie my shoes, to teaching me how to take care of my future family. And yes, I will take care of you when you're in the loony bin! Don't worry! haha! Sure we may have our occasional mishaps, but through them I learn and I grow stronger with you. I couldn't be more blessed. God has put me here for a reason. Part of my success in life will be from you. If I never had you in my life...who knows where I'd be. Probably...In a van Down by the River! HAHA! You are my role model. You are doing a FANTABULOUS JOB! hehe! I see the difference in me from other kids and I begin to realize that it's because I've learned from the best. Sure you may have your faults, but that shows me that you are HUMAN (even though it may not seem like it at some times.) LoL! JK! oops I mean "just kidding" Mom you will always be the person I look up to for boy issues, girl problems, me issues and just to chat. I LOVE YOU MOM. From the bottom of my heart, you mean Everything!

From your super star Daughter!

Love,

[Redheaded Snippet] <3
A.K.A...Flexicon (ask me later), Dorkhead, and (my personal fav.)
Embertbumperdink!

TRALALA!"

Let me tell you, I laughed, I cried, I cheered. I think it's my favorite letter to date. And it's so full of her. Her bubbly, sweet personality shines through every phrase.

Man-Cub, after spending countless days mysteriously sneaking down to the basement to hammer, sand and paint, presented me with a personally hand-made plaque complete with rubber bands stretched over nails in the shape of a heart. It's the sweetest thing.

After the gift-giving and going to church with my aunt and uncle, we took the kids to one of our favorite fun-spots in New Hampshire, Cold River. We used to go there when my sisters and I were kids. We'd put on old sneakers and old clothes and spend the day splashing in the river, slipping on the rocks, trying to catch minnows with our hands, scaring waterbugs, avoiding cow plops. Now that I have kids, I like to take them there when we get the chance to visit and I love that they love it.

As you can see, Man-Cub went a little Lord of the Flies on us, but, thankfully, no one was harmed in any way. We haven't had any good photos of the four of us in a long time so our deep and sincere thanks to Daria for taking them (she's pictured in the Wellies, claiming that rock for Scotland-though she has no flag-by the way. Daria, I still envy your lovely, slim calves)!

So, in spite of it all, Mothers' Day turned out to be lovely. We sat and drank in the sunshine and fresh air at the river and made it home from New Hampshire in record time later that night (5 hours)! Of course, The Viking lost his cell phone on the banks of the river, but my ever-intrepid uncle was able to track it down with his mad hunting skillz the next day and it should be arriving back to us sometime today. Yay!

Well then, I'm off to fix some lunch and enjoy an hour of my favorite cooking shows. America's Test Kitchen and Everyday Food are coming on!

Random Observations

Yes, this is the same view I posted last time. Only this time the clothesline has been resurrected! Yay! It is amazing what is thrilling to the minds of the simple. Just hang with me here (ha ha, no pun intended, but it's funny just the same, no? No? Oh, well), the clothesline will come into topic a little further down.

Here are some things I've observed today:

1. I can clean my house until my fingers are stiff and cracked and my children will never notice for one second. This week I have wiped, scrubbed, rinsed, swept, dusted, smoothed, folded, laundered and washed within an inch of my life and no one batted an eye (well, to be entirely fair, The Viking did thank me encouragingly several times. He is, after all, no Neanderthal, that loving man of mine. But right now, I am talking about my spawn, my fruit, my children...). But after spending nearly 24 hours at a friend's house, filling someone else's home with her particular brand of...let's say merriment, Redheaded Snippet took one step into the kitchen upon her return and stopped dead, looked around and said, "Something's different. It looks better in here. Oh yeah, Daddy mowed the lawn." Seriously? The lawn she notices, but clean sheets, clean clothing, hot, homemade meals, thoughtfully-packed lunches go right over her head? GAH.

2. No matter how many times I try, no matter what delusions I choose to entertain which lead me to believe this time will be different, I cannot comfortably walk my dog with dignity. She is a good, loving, obedient pet. The children love her, The Viking loves her and I tolerate her very well and can even muster an appreciation for her most of the time. But she is not leash trained and I, apparently, lack the skillz necessary to train her. I've seen Cesar Milan (love him, in fact) and know I need to be the pack leader and strut my stuff and simply will her into submitting to me. But though she is a very submissive dog almost to the point of being passive-aggressive, she will not let me lead. I wind up turning back halfway into the walk I had intended to take because my hand, arm, shoulder, indeed the entire side of my body, are aching with the effort of making her mind me. GAH.

3. No matter how refreshing and old-timey it makes one feel, utilizing a clothesline (see photo above) isn't very helpful if one a) takes one's chances with the wind and simply drapes one's wet laundry over the line sans pegs (see photo above), hoping it will not somehow wind up in the dirt below and b) forgets said unpegged laundry and leaves it to flap and flutter overnight in the rain. Two of my towels threw themselves in desperation to the murky depths between the deck and the picket fence last night. I found their remains in the dirt this afternoon and had to rewash them. It doesn't really help to save energy by not using the dryer when I have to use the washer twice as much, now, does it? I think I need to buy a new batch of pegs. I also need some plastic bottles so I can mix up my own cleaning supplies again. I bought a new bottle of lavender oil and the stuff has just entranced me anew. I put about 5 drops on two cotton balls and stuck one on the top shelf of the linen closet and the other in Man-Cub's closet where we store our out-of-season clothes and linens. It works so well I get a soft whiff of lavender every time I walk down the upstairs hall! So now I'm using it in the laundry again and have great plans for homemade bathroom cleaner and fabric refresher! Maybe this year I'll even be successful in planting some lavender in the yard so I can dry it and stash it all over the house. Well, we'll see about that.

Now the dryer has buzzed (I'm not putting all our clothes out on the line) and I need to finish planning this week's meals and grocery list. We're out of everything and dinnertime is fast upon us. So, off I go to fold and iron for no one to notice!

Tra la! It's May...

...the lusty month of May! That lovely month when ev'ryone goes blissfully astray!
Tra la! It's here, that shocking time of year!
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear!

It's May! It's May, that gorgeous holiday
When ev'ry maiden prays that her lad will be a cad!
It's mad! It's gay, a libelous display
Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

La la! It's May, the lusty month of May!
That darling month when ev'ryone throws self-control away
It's time to do a wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day one you'll always rue

It's May! It's May, the month of "Yes, you may"
The time for ev'ry frivolous whim - proper or "im"
It's wild! It's gay, a blot in ev'ry way
The birds and bees with all of their vast amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast
The lusty month of May!

Tra la! It's May, the lusty month of May
That lovely month when ev'ryone goes blissfully astray
Tra la! It's here, that shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear

It's May! It's May, the month of great dismay
When all the world is brimming with fun, wholesome or "un"
It's mad! It's gay, a libelous display
These dreary vows that ev'ryone takes, ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

I tried to find a video of Julie Andrews singing this Springtime Anthem (from Camelot, of course), because that is truly the only way this song can be enjoyed, but all I could find was the scene from the movie. And I'm sorry, but it just wasn't good enough.

So, yes, Spring is firmly settled in all her glory. I've mentioned it a few times before, but now I've got photos! Not very good ones, I'll allow, but photos nonetheless. We weren't blessed with brilliantly-colored flowering trees in our yard, but we do have a nice view of our neighbor's, as seen above. That house is, sadly, empty at the moment as the former occupants passed away and their son is currently renovating it for his own family. Hopefully we'll get new neighbors soon, but in the meantime, I will just amuse myself by taking photos of their lovely garden.

This is the view as it appears from Man-Cub's bedroom window, lucky boy. I would love a view like this. The one from our bedroom looks over the house left empty by our neighbor on the other side. Yes, we are flanked by abandoned houses. You'd think we had driven them all out. It is up for sale and not nearly as picturesque as the old, white farmhouse with the lovely trees (in fact, in my quite unprofessional but strong opinion, the place needs to be bulldozed so someone can start over fresh, but what do I know, right?). But pressing on,

a bit of a closer view of the lovely neighbor's yard. I think this view has featured in Wintry shots I've posted, complete with sagging, dilapidated fence (it's been that way since we moved in 10 years ago). It just gives me a soft smile every time I glance out one of the North-facing windows.

I tried here to get a closer shot of what I think is the cherry tree with it's carpet of lavender blossoms. Every time the wind blows, it looks like it's raining big, fluffy blobs of purplish-pink snow. This was taken the morning after a fierce storm so you can see nearly all the petals have been blown off. I foolishly bade Man-Cub to join me in admiring the petal carpet when I woke him one morning, but he just looked at me askance as any 7-year-old boy would when invited to consider the glories of wind-strewn flowers.

Speaking of my little imp, is this the face of T-R-O-U-B-L-E, or what?

Whence that toothy, jack-o-lantern grin, you may ask? His two upper front teeth have been ever loosening for some time now. One had just started while the other had begun to display that "dangling" look, you know when you can just look at it and see that it's ready to drop out? Twice in the past month Man-Cub had a close encounter with the school gym's floor, giving himself a nice big fat lip, but somehow narrowly avoiding knocking those teeth out. I did know how that really loose one had held in there. Then, last night, he spent the evening with Gram. When we came home, she announced he had finally succeeded in knocking one of his front teeth out with the seat of one of her backyard swings (don't ask me, I don't know). I sighed and commented, "Fortunately, it was pretty loose to begin with..." when I noticed it wasn't the Snaggletooth he had knocked out, but the other one!

Does anyone else think he could pass as a Redneck? Oh, I am so proud.

Well, I must be off. The Viking is mowing the back forty, Man-Cub, with his toothy grin, is making a sling shot and inspecting caterpillars (wonder if he's scouting them out as possible targets?) and I intend to get outside and take a walking tour of the gardens and grounds. Maybe I'll try my hand at a few more photos while I'm seeing how the flowers are doing.

If you haven't already, get out there and soak in some sunshine!

Spring Has Sprung

I think I use that as a title at least once year. I know it isn't very creative, but I can't help it. It sticks in my head and must be let out every now and then.

It has come to my attention (thank you, Dharma) that society is in dire need of an update from me. I may not have paparazzi camping out up and down my street or erecting scaffolding outside my bedroom window to capture my every scintillating move, but there is still a deep hunger for all things Pippa. I can sense it. And I am nothing if not accommodating.

Okay, enough. I suspect you may have noticed my feeble attempts at Springing up my blog. It doesn't quite have the effect I was going for: sort of a Springy, country, sunshiny palate. I wanted all blues and yellows, but it looked pretty boring. And I'm not a fan of pink, per se, but it was the least of all the evil colors offered. I may have to play with it some more. We'll see.

So much has happened, dear readers! Man-Cub has started his brilliant baseball career and I have a new nephew! That's right, we have joined the billions of American parents who spend their Saturday mornings cheering on a team of 7-year-old boys who may or may not run the right way around a baseball diamond. And Lobelia has been safely delivered of the miniature man who spent the several weeks trying to claw his way through the walls of her uterus. He's enormous and beautiful and perfect and I am in deep, deep love again. One of the best parts about being an aunt so far? My sisters have been referring to me by my old childhood nickname and, as much as I hated it when I was 13, I love it! I hope it sticks! Every family needs to have at least one aunt or uncle who is known by a nickname and I readily volunteer for it to be me! I'm a little weird that way.

There really is nothing else to report unless I choose to wax rhapsodical about Spring again. The grass is green, the trees have leaves, the birds go twitteringly crazy every morning, the air is fragrant enough to get me high, and flowers are bursting forth everywhere. The violets are all over the place, through no effort of ours whatsoever (yes, I realize some people consider them a weed, but anything that spreads on its own, doesn't need weeding or pruning and produces pretty blooms is welcome by me!), and the lilacs are in! The kids brought in two fistfuls each of intoxicating purple yesterday and now the whole house smells blissful. It's not Spring until there's a pitcher full of lilacs drooping on the dining room table.

I wish I was handier with the camera so I could share all the seasonal delights with you all, but you'll just have to use your imagination. The dogwoods are blooming, the lilies and black-eyed-susans are getting taller, the azaleas have buds, and the locust trees are preparing for their blaze of glory a month from now. The tree frogs still sing us to sleep each night, we slumber deep breathing in delicious gusts of fresh air from the open windows, and I have constantly wind-blown hair from driving all over the place with the sunroof and all windows open. I do love Spring. Now if we could just do something about skipping Summer...

Anyway, I've been gearing up for Spring Cleaning. I know, I know, I'm a little late, but as long as I get it done before June 20 (or whichever day is the official first day of Summer), it counts. We haven't yet had a free weekend to get the big things done, but I did manage to get the house tidied and every stitch of clothing (except for the ones we're wearing right now) washed in preparation. I've also been able to, get this, keep the house tidied and even moderately cleaned all week long. It's a regular miracle. And I'm on a diet, a sensible one this time.

I won't bore you with diet details, except to say that I'm watching calories and keeping a daily journal of everything I eat through use of a great website I stumbled across, my-calorie-counter.com. It's going very well, even with the added challenge of managing my hypoglycemia at the same time. I promise you, when I start losing weight, I WILL post photos!

Well, it's that time again. Time to fold another load of laundry and hand the keyboard over to one of the children.

Until next time...

Out Like a Lamb???

Is this some kind of April Fools' joke? The weather has been C-R-A-Z-Y around here! It was supposed to be all mild and balmy, you know like a lamb, by March 31 and instead it was frickin' freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth! Then, of course, we had moist, almost humid temperatures in the upper 60's yesterday and thunderstorms and driving rain last night. I had left the upstairs windows open to take advantage of the fresh air and Man-Cub's bedroom floor got nice and wet before I came to my senses and realized things needed to be secured up there. Let's hope the floor boards don't warp.

So, it's been almost a month since I've updated. What on earth is wrong with me? I think I've just been concentrating on getting my priorities straight. Doesn't that just sound insufferably self-righteous? Well, don't hate me just yet. I seriously needed to adjust things. I was spending waaaay too much time idling on the computer and too little doing the things I'm supposed to do like keeping things clean and full and...well, I guess clean again. I wasn't getting enough sleep, wasn't maintaining my health very well, just kind of escaping in front of the computer monitor day after day. Not good.

But I'm back with a new attitude. I might even give my page a make-over, if I can sweet-talk someone into helping me with it so it doesn't take me another month to do it (like last time). I've already given my desktop its Spring wardrobe. Do you do that? I like to have a different desktop theme for each season. I find I'm very much in tune with the seasons and I like everything around me to look...um...seasonal (I need a thesaurus). So right now everything is blue and yellow, which seem to be the colors I'm gravitating toward this Spring, and Daria helped me plaster a big photo of a garden she visited in Lacock, England last Spring across my desktop. It cheers me up every time I look at it.

Our lives have been quite busy with wonderful things in the past few weeks. Easter has come and gone since we last "spoke" and I did get a few photos. I tried to be all bloggy/artsy and get shots of the entire egg-dying process, but it took most of my energy to keep vicious fights from breaking out, what with all the raw eggs, cups of dye and vinegar lying around. All I got was this:

Eggs boiling and cups at the ready for dye. But the situation rapidly deteriorated at this point so I had to put the camera away. I didn't even get any photos of the finished eggs. Harrumph.

But everyone looked lovely in their Easter finery and we got these shots just after church:
The brilliant sunshine made it hard to avoid those pesky shadows. This was the best one we got of them looking relatively normal. You'll see what I mean.

He made a cut-and-run for the rope swing at the first opportunity.

I'm not sure what she's plotting behind that deceptive little grin, but don't be fooled by it.

We managed to herd them back together onto the porch for one last moment of serenity.

If you look closely, you can see the beginnings of trouble on their faces.

But I guess I kind of started it, didn't I? I couldn't help myself.

It just went downhill from there.

Redheaded Snippet got all dramatic with my pashmina.

Then she decided to attack her father with it. Nice.

A few days after Easter, my brother-in-law, Vance, officially completed his PhD and the family gathered for his defense at Penn State to celebrate. We crammed ourselves into a hotel and deprived ourselves of sleep and went to a fancy dinner and just enjoyed stealing a few days of togetherness. And would you just look at this niece of mine?

Her Papa's the one who is now The Doctor.

He calls her, "Crocodelia" for her perfect row of little teeth, on the bottom only.

And there she is with Dharma, her equally lovely Mama.

Three days wasn't nearly enough time to spend with them, but we were glad for it anyway. And we'll be seeing Dharma and Crocodelia again soon as they're planning on coming for a visit when Lobelia's Sweet Boy is born.

Speaking of which, Lobelia is due any day now! Her official due date is the 7th, but she is showing all signs of readiness and is praying fervently that this day will be the day. She feels full to bursting and just wants it out! We are all beside ourselves with excitement as we haven't seen a woman in our family go to term since Redheaded Snippet was born almost 13 years ago. The suspense is killing us! Every time the phone rings we all make a desperate dash for it, hoping it's the "I'M IN LABOR!" call.

Just this past weekend, Daria and I got to go on a Ladies Retreat and spend 2-and-a-half days with some of our absolute most favoritest people. I don't have blog names for them yet (except for Suzie Q--O.C.'08, BAY-BEEE!) but suffice it to say, we made memories I will remember for the rest of my life. We played a game of charades during which, "sex change operation", "colostomy bag" and "tufted titmouse" were among the phrases that had to be acted out. Use your imagination. And you still won't be able to appreciate the hilarity of it all. Daria swears she is emotionally scarred from the experience. We're planning on going again next year and I'm just not sure I can wait that long.

I think that brings us up to speed, unless I decide I want to bore you with news of our new stalker. Shall I? Okay, I shall. The Viking has, I can only assume inadvertently, unless things between he and I are far less blissful than I have been led to believe, inflicted this new plague upon us all by giving our phone number to a clearly obsessive person. It's the Quicken Loans man. Do yourself a favor. Don't ever call them. Like ever. They are worse than the political campaign/poll/subtly veiled threats people. This man disrupts my days and torments our nights. He leaves messages, causing that red light on our phone to blink incessantly. He ties up the line and what if Lobelia is trying to call??? Honestly, I feel like calling him back to tell him, "Please stop calling here, I have a heavily pregnant sister who may be attempting, at this very moment, to call me and beg me to be with her in her hour of deliverance to hold her hand and mop her brow!" But I fear that would only encourage him and induce him to torture Lobelia's phone number out of me. What can I do to be rid of this man? Doesn't he realize that at this point, even if I was interested in refinancing my mortgage (what was my Viking thinking?) he's killed any interest I may have had in refinancing with his company? He's ruining his prospects with clients! Doesn't that violate rule number one or something? Anyway, I'm hoping if I ignore him he'll just go away, but so far, it's not looking good.

Well, I've now updated with a vengeance. This should keep me for a few days at least. And hopefully I won't go another month before updating again. But, if I fall behind in housework, or my nephew does indeed arrive within the next 48 hours, the blog is going to have to be the first thing to go.

So, until we meet again...

In Like a Lion...

Heeeeeeeere's March! It came blustering in all roaring and wild, full of wind, rain, and even snow. Winter has been whipping up howling winds for the past few days, knocking down trees and power lines in his attempt to make a dramatic exit. And now he's settled down into a cold sulk again. He knows his days are numbered. He knows his Winter winds have already blown away, deserting him. For the wind has changed. Spring's winds have already moved in, making preparations for her arrival. Beneath all the bluster, the coming warmth can be felt. I noticed it a few weeks ago in the huge gulps of air I tasted at my opened bedroom window. That moist, almost musky, smell is unmistakable. It smells of damp earth, golden sunshine and new life. I can't keep myself from opening all the windows prematurely (the house has been freezing because of me) and pausing to breathe it all in. I could get high on it.

Birds have returned, swooping madly around the house and yard, frantically seeking nest-building materials or perching high in the trees chattering with each other about how they spent their winter down South. There is a pair of Starlings who return to a corner of our porch each year about this time to try and build a new nest. They appeared 7 or 8 years ago and after two years of putting up with the noise and the disgusting mess they caused, The Viking decided they must be evicted and patched up the hole in the eave they had invaded. They came back the following Spring and forced their way in anyway. Another year of bird poop all over the porch railings and mailbox. That Fall, The Viking removed the siding from under the eave. They came again and merely moved to the rain spout next to the eave. Our poor mailman. Finally, The Viking found a way to seal any crevices suitable for nesting and that did the trick. They moved their nest elsewhere, but not before spending several weeks fluttering around the old nesting site, trying desperately to find a way in. They've done that the last 4 years, fluttering around the rain spout for at least two weeks before moving on to another place. They're at it again; I catch glimpses of black wings streaking across the dining room windows out of the corner of my eye while I'm sitting at the computer. Determined little bird-brains. I wonder if they'll ever stop trying to gain access to their old home?

The House Wrens are a different story. I hope they find their way back to the teapot basket high on the shelf on the porch. They weren't messy at all and provided us with hours of entertainment last summer. Yes, we discriminate here at our Wit's End: Starlings--no, but House Wrens--sure!

Trees and shrubs are budding and flowers are cropping up. There's a house we pass every day on the way to and from school that always has droves of daffodils flanking its picket fence in early Spring. They've just started sprouting up. I love daffodils. They look like sleepy little girls in sunbonnets to me. We used to have them in the yard before we had to dig up the flower bed to solve our leaky-basement problem. It was sad, but even daffodils are small consolation when everything in the basement is moldy.

Since I no longer have daffodils to call my own (I know, I know, what's stopping me from going out and buying a bushel of bulbs?) I pick them up at the store to put in jugs on the table. One of our first Valentine's Days together The Viking presented me with an enormous armful of daffodils and Japanese irises that looked like they'd come fresh from the field. Of all the flowers he's ever given me, those were my favorite and he usually brings home a bouquet of them some time in the Spring. But last week, I was literally stopped in my tracks at the grocery store by the scent of a tub of daffodils in the florist section. I decided I couldn't wait for The Viking's bouquet and bought a bunch and mingled them with some filler flowers the names of which I've forgotten.



I loved catching a whiff of their scent when I walked past the table. I only wish they lasted longer, I love them so much!

But of all the delights of Spring, the one I love best is the song of the tree frogs in the woods around the house. They peep in the trees day in and day out, stopping only when something disturbs them like a stiff breeze, a closely passing car, a cautious deer. We throw our windows open before crawling into bed and sigh deeply as we're lulled to sleep by the tree frogs' lullaby. That sound is one of my favorite things in the world. It makes me feel peaceful, meditative, serene.

Of course, the sight of them does not have the same effect! But as they are content to stay across the road in the trees along the stream, I am content to lie in my bed at night at a safe distance and pretend I don't know what they look like.

Ah, Spring. I'm ready for you now. Even if I do have to pack away all our flannel bedclothes.

So, how've ya been?

Get comfy cause we're gonna be a while while we catch up. Gracious, so much has happened! So much that I've forgotten half of it already before I've had the chance to blog! Gee, that sounds silly. But it's true.

First things first, I suppose. We spent last weekend visiting The Viking's brother and his family in the Poconos. They are the only kindred spirits we have in The Viking's family, which sounds kind of sad, but it was such a relief to find a healthy branch of an otherwise diseased family tree. They are delightful, sincere, and very, very dear to us. They're considering a move which will make it much harder for us to visit with them in the future, which will stink, but it does seem to be a good change for them so I'm happy for them.

My BIL (who somehow bears an eerie resemblance to The Viking without being very Vikingesque himself) has access to a camp in the woods near his home so he and The Viking took Man-Cub over there to spend the day tubing and climbing rock walls and basically acting like the wonderfully testosterone-fueled males they are. Six inches of snow accommodatingly fell while we were there so the tubing was super. According to eye-witness reports, The Viking and Man-Cub hurtled fast enough down that hill to cause fearful dread of them being dashed to bits against trees and such. According to the hurtlers themselves, it was nothing short of "awesome" (Man-Cub's favorite word lately).
Prepped and ready.

Photographic proof of him climbing the walls.

The day after we returned from the Poconos was Man-Cub's 7th birthday. It's hard to believe my baby (shhh, don't tell him I called him that--he hates it) is seven. I remember lying in my hospital bed, trying very hard to convince myself that the time would soon come when I'd have a seven-year-old boy running around getting into everything and the misery of a high-risk pregnancy and bed rest would be a distant memory. It didn't comfort me then, and it certainly doesn't now, though I'd much rather face the bittersweet reality of having a rapidly growing boy than that the uncertain one of wondering if the infant in my womb was going to survive. But enough profundity for now.

We took the children to Dave and Buster's in Philly for a birthday celebration. I had never been there. I was expecting it to be more than just a glorified Chuck E. Cheese. I was disappointed. I hate places like that and had to keep reminding myself, while trying frantically to keep both children within my line of vision (I have a deep and abiding fear of someone easily snatching them in places like that), that we were there for Man-Cub's enjoyment, not mine. He was so overwrought from being worn-out and over-stimulated by the time we left that he was in tears. It was hard to tell if that meant the evening was a success or not. Daria came along, too (visiting from Chicago) and we had fun making fun of people's clothes, particularly the young woman who looked like a Hooker From Mars. Great fun, that.

The next night, we the Grandparents and EGOD come over and had the proper cake, candles, and ice cream thing. The decorations were a bit of a mish-mash as Man-Cub decided he wanted Transformer paper products and a race track cake. Then Daria insisted on Pirates of the Caribbean balloons and my mom wrapped all his presents in Harry Potter wrapping paper. It was like a marketing executives dream!

Look at that sinister-looking shadow surrounding his head. Kind of like an evil halo.

Balloons! Delivered to the door by the florist! The Viking's parents do that every year and he just loves it.

I mentioned the race track cake already. Did I mention I made it? With help from Daria because I can hardly draw a straight line with a pencil let alone with a tube of sticky icing? I'm not the best cake-maker, but I can manage enough to satisfy a smallish child. I found the recipe and instructions online somewhere and threw the thing together in an afternoon. Wanna see?

It really bugged me that this looks like a giant "8" and it was his 7th birthday, but, thankfully, no one was confused. I set it in front of him sideways, like an infinity sign, so it looked more like a race track than an "8". Daria made the banner and checkered flags and The Viking practically wrestled the pastry bag away from me so he could "paint" the white lines on the Oreo cookie pavement (apparently the icing doesn't lay well on the crushed cookies and that's why the lines are so crooked), but otherwise I did it myself. I had some problems with getting the icing green enough (which is why some mint-green is peeking through the dark) until Daria, the artist, took over the mixing of the colors for me, and it was a bit un-level, but it was yummy! There's still some sitting in the fridge, maybe I'll go sneak a piece...

What I really need to do is get some of those pesky chores done. Beds are unmade, clothes are unwashed and my menu for next week is still blank. I'd best go accomplish things besides improving my Spider Solitaire score before the kids come home!