Saturday, February 27, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
These two had so much fun driving/riding around the yard the other day. Ignore the state of the grass; it's been raining nearly constantly and we haven't been able to do much out there. I was just glad the standing water was finally drained enough for them to play for a while! Unfortunately, we have a 90% chance of it again today.
I guess it's Cavan's turn next.
I just hope Cullen doesn't take it upon himself to go get the baby, drag him outside, and put him in the trailer on his own.
He wouldn't do that, though.
Monday, February 22, 2010
That's what Cullen's been gleefully saying over and over and over again, all morning long.
Except, that's really only part of what he's been saying.
When I finally figured out what he was really saying, I told him, "Stop it. We don't say that."
He furrowed his little brow, deep in thought.
"We don't say machine?" he asked.
"No, you can say machine," I answered.
He thought some more, then gave me his sly, sweet little grin.
"We don't say damn?"
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
M'lissa took the cake I made for her and left Chubs and me alone to nap for a bit before Hubs came back from the afternoon session.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
And not to be left out, I let Cavan help with his first valentines, too.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Today the boys and I took my dad and stepmom some valentines and cookies from the kids.
I tried to surprise her at her office, but she'd left for lunch. The secretary told me where she had gone, so I headed to the restaurant so she could see the boys and Cullen could give her some treats.
I didn't mean to hijack her lunch with her friend, but she wanted us to stay and eat with her, so we did. Well, I ate. Cullen annoyed us all (they tried to act like they weren't annoyed, but I wasn't fooled; or maybe it was just that he was annoying me on a whole new level today with his 5,861 questions) and stole cheese from her friend's plate before I could stop him. And then didn't eat his food when it came. But I digress.
After we left, I drove around the area, looking for my former pastor's house. It was just a street or two away from where we were, and I wanted to see if it looked the same as it did years ago, when I spent as many nights there as I did at my own home.
I passed it slowly, looking at all the changes. Then I made a u-turn at the block, since I was now headed in the opposite direction of my dad's house, which was my next destination.
It meant I'd get another look at the lovely, and huge, old house.
I barely noticed the old man walking on the opposite side of the street, just a few houses down, until I was alongside of him.
It was at that point that he whipped his hands out of his jacket pockets and flipped me off and began screaming "F&%# you!" repeatedly.
Crazy Old Man, do I know you?
That would be a no.
I looked in my rearview mirror.
He had taken up a position in the center of the street, facing my departing vehicle. He had added a crotch grab to his repertoire. He wasn't shy about it, either. He was rising to his toes for dramatic effect. He was screaming and grabbing himself and flipping me off with gusto. He was proud of that gnarled old finger. He must have fond memories of his days waving planes in to land with those hands.
Unnerved, I continued to my dad's house. Surely this is the town's beloved insane hobo, I thought.
"Don't mind him," my dad was bound to tell me. "That's just Old Salty."
Except my dad had no clue who I was talking about. He wanted to jump in the car and go find the old man.
I suggested he kiss Chubs' cheekies and snuggle his fat little body and answer Cullen's 8,672 questions instead.
He thought that was a pretty good idea.
So that's what we did.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Christian's class party is Friday, and she's supposed to bring something to contribute. I asked her what she wanted to bring and she said cookies.
Of course she said cookies.
I don't do cookies.
Well, I do do cookies, but not pretty decorated sugar cookies. And, let's face it, that's what kids expect at a valentine's party.
So this week, I've made two batches of sugar cookie dough and six mini valentine cakes for various teachers, and random other people (lest I spoil the surprise by saying who). And valentines. Lots of valentines.
It's (as I write this) just a few hours away. When he wakes up I'll feed him breakfast and get him dressed and take him to Granny's house, where he goes every Thursday. He and his cousin Jakob will have a little "Balentimes" party of their own.
Believe it or not, but I think I'm probably more excited than he is. And he's pretty darn excited. It's just that it's his first little party, and his first go at handing out valentines, and I've worked so danged hard on all this stuff this week. The valentines are pretty dadgum cute, if I do say so myself. Which adds to my excitement. I can't wait for the recipients to see how adorable they turned out.
My neighbor came over tonight and kept me company while I worked for a bit, though I did way more talking than working. I showed her their valentines, and we just couldn't get over the cuteness of these things! She was pretty impressed.
I would show a picture ('cause I took about a thousand) but it would spoil the surprise of the people reading this blog who will be receiving these cute little things.
I'll post pictures of them, and the cakes, in a few days.
I only have Cullen's party cake complete right now. I'm kind of excited to see the others lined up, all complete and ready to be devoured. I think it will look like Saint Valentine puked all over my kitchen. But in a good way.
So, in the absence of incomparably cute "Balentimes," I'll leave you with Cullen's "Balentimes" cookies. Which were decorated after hours upon hours upon hours of me standing in the kitchen, up to my elbows in sugar.
Fear my mad sugar cookie decorating skillz.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
He's crawling now; protesting all the way, but he's crawling.
He scoots all around the house in his walker, looking for Cullen and Christian, gleefully following along behind them once they're found. If they're not home, he comes after me and jerks on my pants leg, fussing, until I rescue him.
He's crawled out of his room many times. He's crawled from his play area in the living room to the kitchen and dining room.
The other night we had ribs for dinner. Cavan ate most of one of mine. I don't mean pureed meat or tiny little pieces, either. These were chunks of meat. He'd scoot over in his walker to me and open his mouth so wide it looked like his jaw was double-jointed. I'd put a chunk of rib meat on a fork and hold it to him and he'd grab it like a shark grabs... well... whatever those big bloody hunks of meat that sharks grab are called. Then he'd scoot away, sucking his lips and smacking to get all that delicious flavor before coming back for more.
Last night we didn't even break out the baby food. We just cut up little pieces of chicken and gave him the potatoes we were also eating.
Excuse me while I curl up, suck my thumb, and cry.
Monday, February 8, 2010
So we, and by "we," I mean, "I," made a split-decision to buy it.