Droopy Daisy and other exciting houseguests

I've been so busy with our newest houseguest Daisy. I mean, just look at this face and tell me how I can get anything done? Wouldn't you feel compelled to cheer her up a little too?

She's our Basset foster, although in the spirit of full disclosure, complete honesty and just plain ol' keepin' it real, I don't think I can part with her. I think she's mine. Which is good because we could use a little canine personality around here. Luna, as elegant and dignified as she may be, well, has the personality of a box of rocks. There, I said it.

Daisy is not elegant. Daisy is not dignified. Daisy is a stubby-legged, long-eared, droopy-eyed goofball. And I love her for it.

And she likes to sleep on the bed which annoys E to no end, but I find sweetly endearing. The question to ask is, do I find it endearing that she likes to sleep on the bed....or that it annoys E? Hmm.

And we have other houseguests, who might coincidentally be similarly droopy after five days with the grandkids. Or more specifically, with Bubby. Grandpa and Grandma arrived, bearing goodies, of course, and we had another combined birthday celebration. If we ever celebrate their birthdays on one day, and one day only, I suspect their feelings will be quite hurt and they will feel the pain of such deprivation most acutely.

And now back to my houseguests, who at 3:53 p.m., are all snoozing away in various locations around the house. The only thing that distinguishes one from another at this point, is that Daisy is not snoring.

I live in a strange place

A place where an F14 Tomcat thundered over yesterday, flying low enough to shake the house on its foundation and send Bubs into crying hysterics, and causing the rest of us to wonder if the end of the world had arrived. Drat! I thought. I'm not ready.

But today is Sunday and a Tomcat would be a bit much for a Sunday wouldn't it? So instead we looked out to watch this drift peacefully past our trees:

Broadway, here we come.

The BIG day arrived with a whole lot of dancing and singing...and other things. And none too soon because I had two kids ricocheting off the walls. We had two memorable performances in store for us. But first a wee bit of a sinus infection, which left me feeling as though the, oh, 7% of me that is the right half of my skull was filled with lead, and the remaining 93% of me like death, necessitated a desperate trip to the doctor with three kids in tow. An hour wait in the waiting room (they weren't kidding when they coined that term, eh?) left me wondering what in the name of tarnation was I thinking bringing three kids to the G.P? Oh, right! I wasn't thinking. Apparently that 7% is pretty important in the overall scheme of things, as evidenced by the earlier chicken carmelization incident (which we're still recovering from, by the way). Why, I have to ask, does the painful and gradual build up of ooze in the sinuses equal detrimental impairment of one's brain function? Anyway, all I'm saying is, I love antibiotics.

Well, that taken care of, we prepared for Wonderboy's music program. His teacher had been specific in requesting 'best dress', and so naturally I pressed a shirt and selected a tie and braced myself for the protest. And Wonderboy did not disappoint. He got out of the shower and flatly refused to don the Church Clothes. Church Clothes are not for school he insisted. They are Boring Clothes, those Church Clothes, and Boring Clothes have no place in school. No place. They are only for Boring places. Like church. This continued for quite a while until I entered the letter from his teacher into evidence and we argued over the precise meaning of each and every word. I won eventually, but only by a hair, but, still it was a win.

As for the program, Wonderboy can get his groove on. He loves to sing and he loves to dance, and he loves to do them together. I think he really enjoyed himself, and it was so unbelievably adorable, you just wouldn't believe me if I told you.

But the fun didn't stop there, because we also were looking forward to my girl's big, year-end, dance recital. She was beyond excited for the opportunity to dance with Dad looking on, and was tickled pink when dad presented her with flowers after the recital. There was more unbelievable adorableness. Much, much, more. But I know you don't want to hear sappy blathering about all the cuteness, so here's a few photos...

So Doozie-of-a-Week almost complete. Almost. We still have Sunday to get through with all its Boring Clothing.

This week has been a doozie

...and it's only Wednesday. I'll skip most of the details except to say that I kinda-sort tried to burn down the house yesterday. E wanted me to cook some chicken he'd left in the fridge so it would be ready for him to whip up into a chicken salad for dinner, so I stuck it on the grill pan about 20 minutes before I needed to leave to pick up Wonderboy from school. It wasn't quite done as I headed out the door, so I turned off the stove, but left the pan on the burner to finish off. Or so I thought.

We returned 45 minutes later to a smoke-filled house, smelling something like a cross between wet dog + decaying flesh. Oddly enough the smoke detectors didn't consider putrid smoke a threat. And if you're wondering what happens to chicken when cooked about 45 minutes too long - well, it turns to tar. Sticky oozing caramelized chicken-tar. I don't think I'll ever get the deepest-most recesses of my olfactory spaces properly aired out after this one. Fortunately I think I can salvage the Le Creuset pan, but only because it's cast iron and I think you can pretty much always salvage cast iron, otherwise the pan would have been a casualty for certain.

Wonderboy determined that I must have especially bad luck. First, to have burned the chicken, second, to have stinky smoke everywhere, and third, to have filled the house with flies. He despaired, "I think my birthday is spoiled!"

Things quickly looked up however, when he retrieved a fly swatter from the garage and obliterated a fly. He squealed, "Never mind mom! This is the best day ever!" I'm puzzled. Which is worse? That he decided burnt chicken = spoiled birthday, or that the demise of an insect = Best Day Ever?

But the fun never ends around here. Wonderboy insists he must not actually be six years old since his sneakers still fit. And I woke up to this cheerful good morning greeting in the powder room from E:

This is just the kind of thing he does. You know, just to keep the flame alive, and all that.

Own your own shame, man, own your own shame.

SIX - here we come!

Six years ago, I was as big as a house. Well, bigger, really, due to excess fluid and the eight pounder I was housing. I'm not over-blowing reality when I emphasize that my belly was really, really huge. But I truly couldn't have cared less because I was in the all-encompassing bliss of a must longed for and completely enjoyable first pregnancy. And Wonderboy mercilessly took our hearts prisoner right away.

I don't know how it's happened, but my sweet baby boy has somehow morphed into a little man. He retains his dimples and head full of curls, but he climbs trees and rides a bike and teaches his sister to write her name. He can make a sandwich and operate the vacuum. He is a Lego Master. He gives crushing bear hugs and pretends to be apologetic when he burbs aloud. He is artistic and sensitive. Bright and thoughtful. He has tremendous empathy and is inquisitive to a fault. His creativity knows no bounds, especially at 9 p.m. when you can't possibly imagine what reason he could have conjured up to be creeping down the stairs yet again.

Happy Birthday to my dear Wonderboy.

Three of the best days I've known...

...are those when these bright, spirited, challenging, and infinitely lovable little ones came into my life. I love being a mom. I wouldn't trade this for the world.

To my Mom, Mom-in-law, Grandma and the many lovely moms who've influenced me and shaped my vision of the mom I'd like to be - Happy Mother's Day!

Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body. ~ Elizabeth Stone

Sweet Baboo

A.K.A.:

1. The reason our chandelier usually has multiple bulbs burned out. Turns out you can't swing from the fixture too often without messing up those teeny tiny bulb filaments. Go figure.

2. The reason we are chronically tired.

3. The source of the bite marks in our dining chairs.

4. Official dog hugger.

5. Mr. Stinky Pants. And that's Stinky with a capital 'S'.

6. Little Man. As in Little Man Syndrome.

7. Connoisseur of pacifiers.

8. NOFINN!

9. STOPFINN!

10. GETDOWNFINN!

11. Sand Eater

12. The reason three is enough.