Burgeoning Fashionista

She started out the day like this (checking in with Daddy, the only Prince Charming as far as she is concerned), and then abandoned the satin and roses for green sunglasses and a stylish set of wheels:

Look at Bubs checking out her sweet ride:

We've been in search of signs of spring

and we've found a few. We also froze our fannies off in the process, but a little fresh air, a little exercise, and a handful of unhealthy cider mill doughnuts and we've had a successful outing all around.

The Easter Story...

...as told by Miss Sassypants and Wonderboy, over E's gourmet Easter dinner: chicken curry satay and vegetable fried rice (perhaps Easter caught us off guard this year?):

Wonderboy: "Well the bad guys made him carry his own cross, but he kept falling down and then when they buried his body, his girlfriends put some good-smelling stuff on him so he wouldn't smell so bad."

Sassypants: "The bad guys put Jesus in a swirly den thing (The tomb? I asked)...yes, and then a fairy came and she scared the knights away, and she rolled away the stone, and then Jesus was real again."

Easter, Part II

Happy Easter!

Easter festivities, Part I

Things kicked off this morning with the neighborhood egg hunt, which borders on pathetic (I mean a couple hundred plastic eggs thrown about the playground? C'mon), but the kids love it.

Bubs was all chivalry, helping out the ladies, not one to stand by and watch them sully their delicate little hands in the playground gravel.

Hey, good lookin'....and mini-me

And look! One tiny little crocus in bloom. The first blooming thing in our yard.

And totally random pic here. Let's call this one "What you lookin' at?"

We all love the UPS man

Especially the gang, because he brought them early Easter goods courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa J. It's pretty funny actually. All three of them are poised for attack when they see the UPS man approaching our door, because they're just certain it's going to be one of g-ma and g-pa's famous packages o' loot. They're usually disappointed given the amount of shopping I do online these days, but they always swarm around squealing "Who's it for ma?", "Is it for us???", and if it is one of the much anticipated packages for them all I can do is stand back. Way back. Because they set upon that package like a pack of hungry hyenas. I'm not kidding. They can have a package flayed open in 2.5 seconds flat.

I mean, just look at the gleam in those eyes. Bubs loves any opportunity to ransack. You need ransacking? He's your guy. He's the first in the box tossing the windfall in every direction.

A little somethin' somethin' for me - which I wrenched out of his tight little fists before he could shatter the bottle and spray my fine Mexican vanilla all over the entry way.

And then a hush settled on the group while they read (devour) their new books and examined their new treasures.

How'd ya like to sleep next to this?

Cause I'm going to be. Oh yeah. Feel free to tease E about this. He is absolutely giddy with anticipation. Giddy!

I'm going to need to sleep with one of those padded eye masks so I don't fall out of bed in spasms of terror in the middle of the night.

A Serious Case of Bloggers Block

So here is a mundane (random!) chronicling of what is happening around here while we try to survive spring break, for which we did absolutely no planning, and so we are stranded here in 50s-ish temperatures bored out of our gourds:

First of all, I'm awaiting the arrival of my much anticipated new toy. Expected to arrive before 4:30 p.m. tomorrow. Waiting for the battery to charge is quite possibly going to kill me. Besides obsessing about my soon-to-be new toy, I've spent a lot of time lately with this stuff...and lots of books on CD (I had no idea how much white woodwork is to be found around here):

Last July E bravely conquered our horrendously lush 1995-ish master bath wallpaper. I so wish I had a picture of the 'before', as it will be difficult to do it justice in mere words. I'll give it a go though. Think standard builder faucets and those horrid Hollywood light fixtures - you know, the kind with 6 orbit-like exposed bulbs. Then picture deep green wallpaper, striped, with red and gold designs in it, and to finish it all off with opulent flair, a huge dark green velvet swaggy valance with green braided fringe. Mammy and Scarlet could have made quite a frock out of our valance.

Anyway, I've just finished off the job of painting all the trim in our bedroom and bath. (But I've opened a can of worms in doing so as I'm now fixed on painting ALL the white trim in the house). E is now a master plumber and electrician, having installed new faucets and light fixtures. And perhaps at the one-year anniversary of the start of this project we will have everything finished and the mess cleaned up, and our bedroom pieced together. One year. One year to paint walls and install new fixtures. No new tile, no new vanities, just paint, mirrors and fixtures. One year. I shudder to think of the duration of a more ambitious project around here. But to brag on E's new found handyman skills:

And my favorite part of the space all around -- the paint color. Somewhere between blue, green, and silver. It's like being sucked into an ocean wave. No, really, it is!

As for the wee ones around here, Wonderboy is desperate for school to resume. We've had too much cool, rainy weather to be outside much and they are all climbing the walls. Bubby has taken to circling the outside perimeter of the house hoping for a weak point through which to escape to the great outdoors. Wonderboy attaches himself firmly to E when he arrives home from work and pummels him with a barrage of questions as though he is his only contact to the outside world. Bull-headed, obstinate S flip-flops from her usual perky self, to suddenly despondent and sobby girl, wailing "I just miss my gwamma and gwampa soooo much." Hear that, gwamma and gwampa? I tell you, without preschool and kindergarten, dance class and swimming lessons, these three are all going a little cuckoo and threatening to take me with them. Cuckooness evidenced:

But today the clouds broke and we ran to the backyard with wild abandon:

Why I Should be a U.N. Negotiator and WWF Smackdown

Yesterday was Princess S's and Wonderboy's scheduled dental check-ups. Wonderboy loves nothing more than a trip to the dentist. Princess S appeared amenable to the idea (this was not her first time visiting the dentist) and they each left with their respective hygienists while Bubs and I remained in the waiting room. About 20 minutes later however, S's hygienist popped out to say S was having none of it. NONE of it. I walked back with Bubs on my hip to discover her sitting in the dental chair with both hands firmly clapped over her mouth. It seems that our dental visit was the culmination of a week of independence-found for our girl. Starting with sobbing hysterics in Primary last Sunday, sobbing hysterics in dance class on Wednesday, and then her resolute vow not to let the polishing tool (and certainly not the berry-flavored polishing paste!) anywhere near her teeth, I have been privileged to observe my previously rather cooperative and persuadable daughter evolve into a child of such strong will, I'm left utterly bewildered as to how to induce cooperation. She has determined, quite fixedly, that cooperation is for the birds. She will not waste another moment of her life on such nonsense. And at that precise moment of willful determination cemented in place, we found ourselves, not at home where I could dole out the necessary threats and consequences in private, but in a dental office, with Bubs - apparently in cahoots - trying to wrestle his way out of my arms and wreak full Bubs-style havoc on the dental equipment, while I (with voice raised to compete with Bub's screeches of protest) desperately tried to reason (patiently) with her while she coolly refused to even acknowledge me or the wrestling match I was currently occupied by. Finally(!) the hygienist leaves us to it for a moment, at which point I sit on the rolling stool and pin Bubs crushingly between my knees and the dental chair, forcibly shove a paci in his mouth, take S's face between by hands, pry her hands away and with my jaw clenched and the most menacing facial expression I can come up with, I threaten her with her very life that if she does not OPEN HER MOUTH right then and there she will not live to see her 4th birthday. Oh, and I will decapitate her precious 'Bunny'. Literally. Okay, not really. But it was such a desperate moment I did bribe her with lunch at McDonald's. She cheerfully replied, "Oh, I think I'd like to have my teeth polished now. It tickles!"

I am hereby removing her title of Princess S and bequeathing upon her the new title of Miss-Stubborn-and-Impossibly-Bull-Headed-Sassy-Pants.

And here she is unveiling her impossibly shiny teeth. And I have no idea what the punk in the background is doing, but we'll let it slide because he's the only one around here giving me an ounce of cooperation any more. Most of the time.

Why I'd never Make it as a Ranch Hand

So here's the thing. I'm practically a cowgirl what with my dad and husband having been raised on ranches, no? No. I'm pretty much a ninny. Those cute bovines in the field...what? They're not there for picturesque effect? What? Beef? What!? Stop! Don't say any more. La, la, la, la, la -- I'm plugging my ears. I can't hear you. La, la, la. Now I'm going to curl into the fetal position until you go away...

So with this in mind here's how things once went down on one of our visits to E's parents in Montana...

We were actually on our way home - stopping to say goodbye to E's father who was working on the 'dry land'. As we drove up the dirt road, I spotted a huge flat-bed trailer hitched to two huge Percheron horses. Not just horses, by the way. Hank and Emma, to be sure. They looked something like this:

Gorgeous. So at this point E is telling me the horses' names - Hank and Emma - and how they must be getting old. They've been hauling the feed out to the cattle for ages apparently. Good ol' trusty Hank and Emma.

We chat a while with E's dad, a true rancher if I've seen one, and E asks what he's doing with Hank and Emma.

What he actually says is, "They're going to feed."

What I actually hear is, "They're going to BE feed."

Oh my, oh my, OH MYYYYYYY. I'm having horrible visions of a fate worse than glue. Think low-grade dog food here. Hank and Emma? Hank and Emma?!?! Becoming feed?!?! What?!? The only thing that kept me from curling up in a heap of despair right there on the spot was the realization that my father-in-law already thought I was beyond ridiculous. The only thing worse would have been a promotion to Ridiculous, Ninny Daughter-in-Law, Sobbing Hysterically in the Middle of the Pasture. But on the bright side, that would have been exceptionally funny, wouldn't it?

Anyway, I think I held it together until E and I climbed back in the car. I looked back in the rear-view mirror as we drove away at big, sweet Hank and Emma. They looked so gentle. Completely unaware of their sad, sad fate. I sniffed and snorted and sputtered some sort of pathetic drivel about poor Hank and Emma. Are all ranch animals doomed to a depressing end, I wailed? Haven't poor Hank and Emma done enough? Can't they live out their days grazing happily, tossing their manes about and swishing flies? Why, why, WHY???

E turned to me and very slowly said, "They're going to PULL the wagon, loaded WITH FEED....oh, and you're an idiot". (I added that last part for effect. E's too nice to say that out loud, but you know he was thinking it!)

Now as for Patches, The Sweet But Slightly Vulgar Ranch Dog ... we'll save that story for another day.

When good Cheerios go bad...