Farewell Colorado. Hello Internet.

For the first time in three years of vacationing as a family in Estes Park, Co, I was unable to get my *&^% computer to work on the lodge's wireless. The first day I just had a withdrawal headache. But the next day it was much more serious, with convulsions and mood swings. It may have been for the best, because being tapped in gets a little overwhelming in more than one way. But how I have missed Thee, fair Internet. And how I've missed spewing my babbling nonsense drivel. So brace yourselves. Babbling nonsense drivel ahead. And boring vacation recaps as well. A double-whammy.

Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park is our family's little paradise. That's because we haven't taken the rugrats to Disney yet. I'm sure when we do, the mountains will be their new drudgery. But for now, it's the highlight of the year, ranking right up there with Christmas. Christmas IN Colorado! Now that would be something. Although the excitement would probably make their little heads burst, so perhaps it's best we not meld the two euphoric events into one. I was ready to throw in the towel before we'd even left, honestly, given the round-the-clock ricocheting off walls the kids were engaged in, and that E, coincidentally, was swamped at work to the point that laundry, packing and planning - and kid wrangling - just wouldn't fit on his agenda. He thinks this is rather funny. I, however, do not.

And while I'm complaining, Universe I have a bone to pick with you. I DO NOT understand why (why, why, why?!?!) a family trip is not possible without one or more of the gang contracting a virulent and extremely unpleasant stomach flu. We will approach our next vacation with a few new tactics in our arsenal of vacation-preparation-tactics. An all-encompassing quarantine. Followed by nightly baths in Purell. Followed by a complete spray down with Lysol. And we will not visit any eating establishments with play areas. Period. And I'm seriously thinking over the possibility and practicality of hazmat suits. I've said my bit, Universe. And now, on to pleasanter things.

Rocky Mountain Park is just so dang awesome. Dang awesome. So spectacularly beautiful. And such a perfect reprieve from the Midwest's smothering humidity and heat. And when I say my kids can hike, I mean my kids can hike. (Until they are sidelined with crippling stomach cramps and fevers, that is.) Well, except for Bubby, who rides, and has a pretty sweet gig, if you ask me. It's not a very sweet gig for whichever of us adults has to schlep him up and down the mountain, but hey, that's what parenting is all about, right? Lots of schlepping. And other things. And there might not be anything funnier than your 6-year old slumping on a rock and saying with all seriousness and a few hand gestures, "I need to hydrate."

Half the reason for our Colorado trip each year is to catch the Estes Park Scandinavian Festival. Besides the good food and folksy handmade items, the highlight for me might have been observing E singing along with the Norwegian national anthem when the Scandianvian flags were paraded in. We enjoyed lefsa with butter and brown sugar while being entertained by the Norwegian dancing. And then we were dragged back to the cabin by the kids, who didn't come to hang out with silly old Scandinavians, thank you very much, but to play in the pine trees, if you don't mind.

The kids hiked with us the next day - about a 5 mile hike to three different lakes, the highest of which was at an elevation of about 10,000 ft. above sea level, folks! And not a word of complaining from my little troopers. They seem to thrive on mountain air and scrambling over rocks. And they looked so stinking cute with their backpacks.

Emerald Lake

Blogger has put it's foot down. No more photos for you, it says. So stay tuned for part deux.

Nostril Update

I didn't realize my last post would generate such concern. My sweet, delicate flower of a child who laughs like a trucker with a dirty mind, and stuffs foreign objects up her nose is fine - no harm done. What she had jammed up there was a small Playmobil part. And after I gathered myself up off the floor where I was laughing hysterically at my poor tearful and panic-stricken child, I asked her for a great big breath in through the mouth, and a right good blast out her nose and, what do you know? The part came shooting out with great fanfare. Tears were dried (both the sad, will-this-thing-remain-in-my-nose-forever?!!-kind, as well as the give-me-a-moment-to-indulge-in-mockery-kind) and the whole experience has pretty much been forgotten. And I don't think she'll do it again. If the sheer horror of the toy-lodging didn't scare her, the sight of her own, unsympathetic mother guffawing at her expense did.

I'm very sorry, Fia, for my spontaneous and inappropriate response to your plight, but it was so ridiculously funny I couldn't help myself. I hope you won't be forced to seek years of expensive and painful psycho-therapy in your mid-thirties for this. If you do, send the bill to your father, please.

Every mother longs for the day...

...when her sweet, delicate, flower of a child rushes in and squeals,

"Mommy, MOMMY, a toy got lost up my nose!!!"

QUESTION

(When I returned from a shopping trip to Costco with a bulk pack of Fancy Feast)

E: What's the cat food for?

Me: The cats.

E: Right.

Daily Daisy

My girl wanted to give the dogs biscuits this morning. No problem, Luna the Lump was camped out on her sofa in the basement and Daisy was outside. They were each given their milkbones. Here you go girls. Knock yourselves out.


This evening after church we let Daisy out. She trudged about the perimeter of the yard and then disappeared behind some ornamental grasses growing in the far back corner. She didn't come out though so I went out to coax and cajole, I parted the grass and leaned over to discover her sitting before a round little hole in the mud, and the biscuit there in the hole. I'm not even kidding. The dog secreted her bone away to enjoy later. This is the stuff of story books. Dick and Jane, see Spot run! See Spot bury his bone!

She might be the cleverest dog ever.

Who knew this was the face of genius?

Getting our bowl on

It has been a week packed chock full of activities, beginning with bowling. There is almost nothing cuter than the itty-bitty bowling shoes in the itty-bitty sizes. And we take our bowling very seriously. Such form! Such technique!

And Bubby alone made up our cheering squad...and did double duty as Official Snack Eater.

And for 'Favorite Photo of the Day', drum-roll please....

I'm ashamed to report that my score was lower than Miss S' and only slightly higher than Wonderboy's. Next time I may use the bumper bars. E, however, saved the day by breaking into triple digits. It's his excellent form and technique, I'm tellin ya.

And now for a Daisy Update...

Daisy is generally delightful and, well, Daisy-ish. She does, however, think she's the boss of the kids which means she either has another home (sans children) in store for her (sniff, sniff) or an expensive and experienced dog behaviorist in her future. For the record, E does not like her one bit.

Oh, and I've discovered she's really passionate about car rides. I know this because when you have to physically haul a saggy-baggy 50 lb lump out of the driver's seat a few times, you start to think maybe she likes car rides. That's all I'm sayin.

So, would anyone like to weigh in? Expensive behaviorist or a life bereft of Daisy? And I certainly don't want to sway anyone in their opinions, so I'll just be Switzerland and keep my thoughts to myself.

Behold! The Cupcake Courier

So I don't really know what is up with the recent cupcake fad, because frankly cupcakes have been around a heckuva long time, and have been the most delightful medium of delivery for cake just as long. I mean, who doesn't love cake that can fit in the palm of your hand, and be consumed without the ceremony of ice cream and cutlery? (I don't like to talk politics, but I really must insist a good warm brownie or a warm apple turnover makes a much more suitable soulmate for ice cream. Not cake. Ice cream just drags down good cake. So there.) And because I personally believe there are few shindigs for which cupcakes could possibly not be just-the-thing, I nearly had a happy conniption and then fainted straight away in Marshalls when I discovered this blue Cupcake Courier (which I have been lusting after for months and months) for half the normal retail price. Only nearly, because if I had fainted straight away, I'm convinced someone else would have snatched the Cupcake Courier right out of my limp, lifeless hands and made a run for it. And then I would have been devastated. Devastated, I tell you. It was a day-making acquisition, and I'm not even kinda-sorta kidding.

But I had no immediate reason to transport 36 cupcakes, so to the storage room downstairs it had to go, because it's pretty much humongous, and my kitchen is pretty much not. But! Today I unearthed it to carry Coconut, Orange and White Chocolate Cupcakes. To a primary party. I wish I had a more auspicious event to which I might tote cupcakes, but there it is. A primary party is the best gig I could get for a Friday night.

I have a couple left over in the fridge. Come get one!