Just because I like to bury my head in the sand.

When life gets crazy, I prefer to unearth the sewing machine. So I followed the tutorial at Presser Foot to make a little girl's dress out of one of daddy's dress shirts. He's got plenty. He won't miss it. And it turned out pretty cute. How come there are so many creative brains out there in blogland?

And I decided to try my hand at free motion machine quilting, so I pieced this strippy lap quilt and machine quilted it. Not so easy, it turns out. I mean this little quilt has 'issues'. But it's serviceable.

I'd love to get rid of it, so if someone wants to leave a comment that they want it I'll gladly pack it off and send it on it's way to you. And if TWO people want it, why then I'll have Bubs choose who to send it to. And if, say, three people want it, then we'll draw a name out of a hat. That's right folks! Free lap quilt with 'issues'! Just what you've always dreamed of.

And as bizarre and unbelievable as it truly is, I'm aware of a few readers in far off exotic lands - but I'd really prefer to pay U.S. postage, thank you kindly.

Where to begin?

I've been especially lousy at this blogging nonsense lately. So there's no way to catch up, other than a choppy, yawn-inducing run down. Consider yourself warned. And feel free to bail.

Mostly, this has dominated our lives the last few months:

Cleaning, painting, staging, and then, when the phone rang, scrambling to load 3 kids and 2 dogs into the Ody to vacate, and fast. We quickly fell into a routine. Fia makes a mad window washer woman, and Wonderboy is your guy if you want to ensure that all toilets have been flushed (And if you have kids who don't really see much point in flushing, like mine, this would be something you'll want to double check before you leave for a showing. I can't imagine who needs to look down a toilet when considering buying a house, but I'm just saying. You wouldn't want to lose a potential buyer just because your kids are particularly phobic about flushing). Poor Bubs got strapped securely in his car seat at T minus 15 minutes because that was the only way to do the last minute shine up, without his especially efficient counter effects. But it's done, and we have been grateful that it only took about 2 weeks for our initial offer to come in. And with the contract signed, the wee people went happily back to lettin' it mellow, because that's what they do.

E did a preliminary house hunt alone while in Chicago for work. And then WE. ALL. WENT. TO. CHICAGO. And if you've never personally been stupid enough to house hunt with three young children in tow, you really should try it. It's delightful. I'm sure it was E's idea.

I guess it wasn't really that bad. Wait. Yes, it was. But the kids were crazy excited and they did pretty well, all things considered. If all the planets align just so, and the sellers decide not to continue their pattern of just-plain-loco-ness and burn the place down before closing, this will be our new home:But, really, I'll believe it when we actually have keys in hand. Besides, there's always Motel 6. I think they leave the light on there.

Oh, and one of the great trials of Miss Fia's young life has been sitting in a "BOY" car seat. Back when I purchased Wonderboy's car seat (a Britax Marathon) in 2002, I got one of the first ones to hit the shelves in D.C., and consequently had to settle for the only color available - a grey-blue sort of velveteen option. And then when Fia was ready to move out of the infant seat, I got all practical and conservative and decided the seats should match, so I bought another boring grey-blue Marathon. She feels quite strongly that she has been subjected to a sore trial indeed, sitting in a grey-blue BOY seat. Until our house-hunting trip, that is. When Southwest's baggage guys must have tied her seat to the end of a long rope and taken it for a joy ride across the tarmac. When we claimed our carseats, 2 of them looked like they'd been through a grizzly attack. Kudos to Southwest though. They reimbursed me for replacement, and now Miss Fia sighs with relief each day as she climbs into her new Mariposa Marathon "GIRLY" seat. Poor thing. The shame I've put her through.

Wishing for...

This bike:

and I would add a bike basket to it, and scoot around with kids piled in the back. Perfect.

Next, The Boston Marathon.

Wonderboy and I ran the Husky Hustle tonight. I know how completely impressive that sounds. But don't be intimidated by our achievement. We all can't be fleet of foot, right? Anyway, here we are with our official numbers, waiting for the call to the starting line.

And here we are coming in for our finish. (Okay, pretend finish. Because E was hanging out at the smoothie booth instead of watching for us at the finish. And so he requested a reenactment for a photo's sake so he wouldn't appear to have slipped in his support duties.) Just look at Wonderboy digging deep as he sprints to the finish line. He's fast, that one. And he was fast the first time we finished too.

Here's the fast guy with his medal:

I will TOTALLY run a mile if it means I can have a free massage when I finish.

I fully expect to be resented for this, years from now.

But for now, he's two, and can't really do much about the way I dress him. Other than give me the hairy eyeball, which he's pretty good at already.

Meet "Daddy"

About a week ago, as we were engaged in the whirlwind and chaos that characterize every weekday morning, while I play (quite convincingly) the role of "Sargent" in Get-To-School-On-Time boot camp, I overheard something perplexing, and perhaps even a little alarming. Wonderboy, Princess S and Bubs, all in collusion, discussed tucking "Daddy" in snug with a square of toilet paper, and then bid him farewell for the day. And every day since then, "Daddy" has been around, just lying on the floor or maybe kicked under the dining table. And when he's separated from his toilet tissue for very long, because maybe I've tossed it in the trash in a futile effort to keep at least the illusion of tidiness alive, it's eventually replaced by one of my three little people - though I never seem to catch him or her in the act, so I don't know who's most responsible for the general care of "Daddy". But aside from the kind offering of the toilet paper, he's pretty much ignored for the most part.

It does raise some questions, though, doesn't it? For instance, why the need for a surrogate Daddy? And why one so...I don't know...wooden? One with a smile permanently affixed? He's certainly a quiet fellow. And he doesn't seem to mind when the little people practice the 50 yard dash across our kitchen, living, and dining rooms. Goodness, he's a cheerful and tolerant little man. All 1.5 inches of him.

...Um...Love was in the air?

With the promise of a beautiful spring day, we decided a family trip to the zoo was in order. And our first stop was the "Australia" exhibit.

Uh, hold on, what do we have here?

Hey kids, lets take this opportunity to learn a little something about life...

We saw a drowsy tiger. He wasn't being vulgar. Too bad I left my furminator home...


These antelope-thingers were also not being vulgar. They graze about peacefully under the ever watchful gaze of a pride of lions and the cheetahs. Both of which probably spend every waking moment daydreaming about the hunt. Which won't ever happen, what with all the electric fence between them. Some zoo architect has an especially sick sense of humor.

The giraffes were well-behaved.

This guy was kind enough not to eat my lens cap after I threw it at him, in a pathetic attempt at a good photo. A vigilant giraffe caretaker retrieved it for me.

And we took a little train ride...

...and avert your eyes once again.

This gang cracked me up. Like "Hey! Look at us! Who needs lions and giraffes when there are synchronized performing turtles around??"

Baby jail?

the end.