Bubby eats cat

I have mentioned Bub's love of cat for dinner...or lunch...or breakfast, but E was quick and spry enough last week to catch the actual cat feast in progress, just before the cat made a lucky getaway. The consumption is always accompanied by quite a lot of baby grunting, and then the cat squirms free and miraculously lives to see another day. Since he is baby #3, we've come to the realization (that first time parents just don't get) that kids are really virtually indestructible. I will confess, however, that I have a niggling fear in the back of my mind that sooner or later, most likely at a very embarrassing and inopportune moment (in public, of course), my seemingly healthy and robust infant will, in fact, cough up a very large hairball, and I will have some explaining to do.

Darn mischievous candy!

The other morning the boy walked into my bathroom with a mouthful of candy - 7 a.m. and he can barely talk his mug is so full of what may have once been a candy cane from last Christmas (ick!). I asked what was in his mouth and why it was there. This was his response (with his best bewildered hands-in-the-air shrug and quizzical, furrowed brow):

"I crept downstairs because I heard a noise and there was a mischievous piece of candy teasing me in it's crinkly wrapper (insert wiggly finger gesture and sound effect) and when I got near, it hopped (another sweeping hand gesture here) right into my mouth - very naughty! - so I crunched, crunched, crunched it because it was sooooo mischievous!! It was VERY sneaky, but don't worry. I took care of it."

E-I-E-I-O!

Aunt Andy and Miss M have been hanging out with us in the searing heat this week and we headed out Saturday for a visit to the farmstead. We fed the fish and the goats, played on the playground, wet our toes by the duck pond, learned a little about dairy farming, raced tractors and did a little fishing. We also wondered where the plump pigs have gone. (?)

All around a fun day and we didn't actually melt, which I feared we might, nor were we eaten by the goats, which is what I think Miss M was certain would happen. All this crazy fun was followed by lunch at our favorite balloonloon (because that's what they're called around our house) source and then a little shopping for the moms sans kids who took much needed naps after a hard day on the farm.

Thanks Aunt A. and Miss M. for a fun week! Come any time - you can both eat salmon to your hearts content around here and Uncle Bobbert will be none the wiser.

Accessorize, accessorize, and then accessorize some more!

And she was her own stylist here.

Baby fish mouth is sweeping the nation...

...And check out the David Hasselhoff chest he's flashing there.

Word of the day: KEEN

As in "I'm not keen on sisters."

Bubby Articulates!

The first word out of this:

Was this:

"Keeeeeeee!!"

To be fair, they did bond early on.

The friendship is a bit strained as of late, seeing as Bubby is only interested in trying to eat the cat these days.

School is in session!

This is surely a monumentous occasion. Particularly so considering the hour and a half war-to-end-all-wars we engaged in this morning over whether or not his new teacher would like him to wear a shirt with buttons or not. He was quite convinced that since HE did not want to wear a shirt with buttons (a super handsome shirt with a cowboy on the back that I picked out especially at Gymboree, thank you very much), surely SHE would be opposed to buttons as well. There was screaming. There was wailing. And there may have been gnashing of teeth, although by that point I had employed my supermom-ignore-abilities, so I can't say for certain. In the end we compromised on a shirt without a full set of buttons and "his favorite and his best" camo pants. Not the picture-perfect outfit I had in mind for his first day of REAL school, but whatever. If there is anything I've learned through motherhood, it's that sometimes you just have to let the little things go...

So here he is, settling in, without even a glance back over his shoulder at ol' mom and dad. So, so ready for school to start. His friend Blake is in his class which is very cool and exciting since he and Blake go way back. Way back to preschool, that is. And check out that ubercool backpack. My dad calls me Queen-o-the-internet and Queen-o-the-internet I may be. How else would I have found such an adorable (and personalized) backpack just PERFECT for kindergarten. I'm sure by next year he'll think that it was the dorkiest thing ever and no self-respecting kid would be caught dead carrying such a bag, but for now he adores it.

The logic of a 5 year old:

Grandpa's prized basketball, signed by Jeff Hornacek of the Utah Jazz is super cool.

BUT! It would be SUPER DUPER cool....

...if I sign it too!!!

(Fortunately he has rather forgiving grandparents.)

This puts a smile on my face:

Me: 1 Refrigerator: 0

I have beat my frig into submission. Why is this noteworthy you might ask? Because although I am a generally tidy and organized individual with rather high standards of cleanliness, in the nearly eleven years I have had stewardship over a refrigerator of my own, I have done a thorough cleaning 3 or perhaps 4 times. This would absolutely horrify my mother and bring a cloak of shame over generations of women in my family if it were widely known.

I abhor frig cleaning. I have my mother to thank for this, I think. Years of chore lists - weekly frig cleaning included, of course - have left me rebellious against certain tasks. You would think that if I was rebelling against my past chore responsibilities, I would avoid any and all household tasks. But no. In fact E thinks I may be having a love affair with the vacuum. I get a rush from washing light switch plates and door frames. A clean window or mirror gives me such pleasure. Dusting?....Well, I completely hate dusting, but you get the idea. I practically break out in hives thinking about cleaning the frig. I would rather sanitize the toilets. Truly.

But I have (temporarily) overcome my frig-cleaning angst and have tackled the job with great gusto. I now have a sparkly-clean refrigerator that my mother would be beaming-proud of. Here's a little summary of how it went down...

packages of moldy pepperoni - 1, gone

pieces of dry mystery cheese, the hardness and density of a brick - 1, gone

packages of tortilla shells - 5 (WHY?!?)

packages of flaxseed meal - 1 (again, WHY?!?) and by the way, what IS flaxseed meal?

tiny packs of ketchup from fast-food eateries - 8, gone

empty bottles of tartar sauce - 1, gone

total count dead flies - 2 (ACK!)


So without further adieu, here is a gratuitous photo of my now clean refrigerator:

(Don't ask about the freezer. I don't do freezers.)

Word of the Day: IGNORITATED

As in "I'm ingnoritated at you Mommy!"

Revision: Bubby does not love Amoxicillan after all.

New love...Benadryl.

The magic of irrigation:

Say whaaa? Yes, irrigation. Grandma and Grandpa have used a canal to irrigate their lawns as long as I can remember, and I would guess much longer than that really. Grandpa opens up the lines from the canal located behind their home and the water begins to flow through large pipes onto the lawn and over the whole property until the grass lies beneath a couple inches of water. If you're completely heebie-jeebied out by the occasional worm floating past your bare piggies (which I often was as a kid) you might not like irrigation day. However, I have realized how extremely cool irrigation day really is since I was able to take the children there to experience for themselves while we were in UT. The kids loved it. The dogs loved it. I loved it. Grandpa exercised tremendous restraint and did not start a water fight. Bummer. It was practically the next best thing to a trip to the beach, really. And you get the added perk of a shared ice cream cone with Great-Grandpa!

I have great memories of my grandparents and their home. It always seemed magical to me in countless ways. I hope my children will have a few wonderful memories of their own of the fun we've had with their Great-Grandparents.

"I want to grow up to be a cowboy...

...and live in the mountains where I can YODEL all day long. I love to yodel. I will also catch bad guys when I'm a cowboy."

He cracks me up.

Daddy's coming home!!

This is one girl who doesn't like when Daddy must travel. She tells him on the phone, "I very miss you long time Daddy!" An old castoff cell phone has been firmly affixed to her ear quite a lot this week so she can give Daddy - who apparently has just spent the whole week hanging on the line - a moment by moment play by play of the goings on around here. Especially any goings on that involve her pesky older brother and the many offenses he has committed at her expense. How many times has she come to me whimpering about something Wonderboy did, and with those enormous blue eyes demanded that we call Daddy right now and TELL HIM TOO!? Well, too darn many. That's how many.

Come home Daddy! This one is a Daddy's girl for sure.

Sometimes a self-imposed time-out is just the thing...

...How cute is that???

So let's just suppose...

...that a certain 9 month old, who shall remain nameless, rudely poops in the bathtub. And let's also say that at the time of the incident, he is accompanied by a certain squeamish 3 year old and a 5 year old. Should one's response be:

a. Begin squealing at such a high pitch that neighborhood dogs begin to howl in despair. Scream repeatedly, "Poopy, poopy, POOOOOPYYYYY!!!!" while scrambling out of the bathtub, a look of utter disgust and horror on one's face. Stand there dripping with mouth agape while revolting event unfolds. Face registers distaste, but body is otherwise frozen in disbelief.

b. Act completely revolted, but laugh hysterically while perched on edge of bathtub, just out of reach of the now murky water. While giggling, shout "Gross ! Oohhhh that's disgusting! That's sooooo gross! Oh yuck! He's squishing it! OOOHHHH! Don't EAT it Finn!!!" Commit to tell every living, breathing human being you come into contact with over the next 72 hours every nasty little detail, and even embellish a bit to make the telling even more remarkably disgusting.

or...

c. Shuffle about in bewilderment. Helplessly grab a wet wipe as this may be the only weapon your poor, sleep-deprived brain can offer up to you as a possible solution to the current problem. Make mental note of the 68 bath toys you will need to soak in a Clorox bath when incident is somehow brought under control. Open tub drain and pray most 'bits' will clear the small drain openings. 'Bits' that don't clear are smeared about by the previously mentioned, useless wet wipe. Use the nearest vessel (the cat's water dish) to wash remaining debris down drain and refill bathtub in order to begin disinfecting the offending 9 month old. Grouchily try to coax the two remaining ship-jumpers (one is still giggling mercilessly, the other is still absolutely horrified) into the shower to begin their own disinfecting process.

In fact, all three responses happened simultaneously. I'll leave it to you to determine who was responsible for each reaction...

Disclaimer: The above photo was NOT taken at the time of the incident. The above photo is of a much happier and more sanitary bath shared at Grandma and Grandpa J's house.