Children of the Candy Corn

Earlier this month, we took a seasonally appropriate trip to the pumpkin patch to go ... pumpkin patching, I guess. Is there a verb for what one does in a pumpkin patch when one is not Courtney Stodden? (Don't run out and Google "Courtney Stodden pumpkin patch," okay? Trust me on this one.)

This is what you wear to the pumpkin patch when you're my kid: a Halloween-themed T-shirt that is maybe but not quite too small, but still big enough to wear in public, generally speaking; pieces of not one, but TWO years' worth of Halloween costumes over capri pants, because hey, why the hell not; an assortment of LiveStrong-style bracelets from only God knows what organizations (I think one of them might say "Got Milk?"); and one leg warmer as an arm cover.

Oh, and let me take this opportunity to point out that it was in the mid-70's that day. So, you know.

The short version of the story is that those tiny little pumpkins were a huge hit. Also the gourds. I am a fan of gourds, and I have to say that the kids all had an excellent eye for nice, nubby, grotty-looking gourds that look positively fantastic in a nice arrangement that my husband made at home in a pretty red bowl. LOOK AT THAT: married almost fifteen years, and I am still learning about his special skills.

Perhaps unexpectedly, my favorite part of this pumpkin patch trip was traipsing "through the corn maze" -- a/k/a looking for Indian corn. The kids found some pretty Indian corn, too, and we let them run around in the cornfields for so long that I'm pretty sure we had them convinced that they were actually in the corn maze that was advertised in great big letters all over the place. (I don't "do" corn mazes, because with my luck I'll get stuck out there forever and they'll need to call out the National Guard to find me and it will be too late because Voldermort will have already ported me away to Little Hangleton and I think it's possible at this point that I might be getting my pop-culture references confused again.)

SPOILER ALERT: There were pony rides. There are ALWAYS pony rides at these things.

Shae did end up finding us a lovely pumpkin that she and G carved up the very next day, and which ended up in the trash already because hey did you know that fresh pumpkins can get all gross and moldy and "smell like the cat's butt"? Trust me on that one, too: we learned that the hard way.

Special thanks to Anthony's mom for letting me us his picture. Thanks, Anthony's mom!

Flashback Friday!

UGH. It's mid-October, rushing headlong into LATE October already, and I haven't put up any pictures in 5,000 years because of reasons (mostly involving ways in which I suck). So today let's celebrate "Flashback Friday," where in this case we'll be flashing way the hell back to ... late August.

OF COURSE there was a slip-and-slide involved. Why wouldn't there be? It's not like we were at my uncle's house, in his backyard, where there is an in-ground pool with hot tub, or anything.

Isn't it kind of amazing how slip-and-slides are, like, the great social equalizer? I mean, sure, they're plastic-coated death traps, but have you ever met anyone who didn't have a great time at an event that featured a slip-and-slide?

I, personally, have not. I wish I had [1] a bigger yard and [2] actual water pressure so that I could put a slip-and-slide in my own backyard during the summer. I mean, we love watching "Adventure Time" while sitting in front of the giant-ass window air conditioner and eating popsicles, but sometimes you need to go out and make your own adventures, you know?

GUH, just looking at this pictures reminds me of how much I miss the summer already, and we have another nine months until it comes back around. This summer was weird, hot in the beginning and cool at the end and many kinds of sinus headaches in between, but the worst day of summer is still better than the best day of any other season except possibly my kid's birthday.

Okay, and maybe Christmas. I like Christmas. And Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving, too. Which reminds me: I just learned about bacon vodka and I am thinking about making bloody Marys to have with my Thanksgiving dinner that I'd make with our traditional V8 and bacon vodka, if I can find any. Doesn't hat sound delightful?

SHUT UP YES IT DOES. A bloody Mary made with V8 and bacon vodka sounds like Thanksgiving dinner in a goddamned glass. Veggies, bacon, and alcohol, all in a Dixie cup? That there equals ZERO clean-up, and if I have TWO I'd be asleep on my uncle's couch before everybody else even got home from the football game.

I also like Halloween, because I love Reese's peanut butter pumpkins. Although I will admit that, except for possibly pumpkin pie, which I adore (just the the crust -- only the pumpkin custard and whipped cream parts), I am kind of over pumpkin everything right now. But pumpkin-shaped chocolates? Yes please.

So here we are, face to face, a couple of Silver Spoons ... no, wait, that isn't right. Here we are, all caught up. Ish. I have more pictures to put up but I need to ease myself into it. For now, just enjoy this little flashback to the Last Major Federal Holiday. Hopefully this will be enough to get you through until next time.

(Oh hey I just realized there are no pictures of me as usual but I wanted to prove that I was participating in the festivities. So, [1] you can either pretend those pictures of my sister are actually me, or [2] you can enjoy this screen print of a Twitter conversation I had with an actual NPR personality. Your choice.)

Coast of Carolina

Oh yeah ... vacation. We've been home for more than a month, so it's probably time to put some pictures up, isn't it?

Truth be told, I haven't written about vacation yet because I'm practicing my usual Zennish strategy of better living through denial. It's like, if I pretend that vacation isn't over yet, then it isn't.

It was our usual family vacation: a chaotic mess of early rising, child limbs, Crocs, pancakes, ice cream, tantrums, Disney movies, mismatched outfits, and missing pacifiers -- and that was all on the first morning.

The weather wasn't the greatest, too hot the first few days and almost too cold after that, and the ocean was cold even by my standards (in the mid-60s, which -- look, I can tolerate A LOT, but I draw the line at hypothermia on vacation, you know?), but we barely even noticed, to be honest.

All the kids were just phenomenal. My sister's boys get more awesome every day, my niece is just the bee's knees, my kid was fairly well behaved most of the time ...

... there are even a couple of photos with ME in them, for a change, although let's be honest here and admit that I have GOT to learn how to pose so that I don't look like I'm made up of, like, 75% boobs and back fat.

I always hesitate to say that I can't wait to do it again, because that's such a gigantic understatement. I'm ready to go on vacation again pretty much the second we get in the car to come home. If I ruled the world and could do whatever I wanted, I'd arrange it so that we could all be together whenever we wanted, always.

Are we going back there, to the coast of Carolina?

As soon as possible.

PS - If you're interested in seeing ALL my vacation photos (all the good ones, anyway), you can view them here, including the Instagrams. If I can figure out how, I'll add my sisters' pictures, too.

[ Something Witty Should Appear Here ]

AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH.

It's hot and humid and I have a sinus headache and my kid is watching some trippy "educational" programming on HBO that involves talking dancing shoelaces (!!!) and I have an 8-page Canterbury Tales paper due at 3:00 on Monday and my brain is basically completely fried.

So here: have some random, almost completely decontextualized pictures!

This is from before 4th of July. I may be alone in this, but I think there is basically nothing in the world more adorable than a wet child in neon colors who smells of Coppertone and chlorine screaming for joy. This is pretty much my happy place, right here. The only thing that would making this picture better, IMNSHO, would be if (1) this were my own kid, and (2) neons were not involved. I lived through the original mid-1980s neon fad, and I am not so excited about this day-glo revival, because I have eyeballs, and I'd like to keep them.

I would like to find the bozobrain who taught my kid the word "chillax" and punch them in the neck (unless it's a kid, in which case I'd like to punch his parent in the neck). Otherwise, camp has been a rousing success so far -- even though (1) Shae doesn't quite understand the words "boa" and "constrictor," although she DOES understand the concept of one, and (2) this picture was taken at my grandmother's.

This bubble is approximately 8,000 years old. Shae used to wear it. Of course, I can't find pictures of Shae wearing it because I never tagged any photos or blog posts with "bubble."

These pictures are actually from July 4th. And, it's a good thing my sister is teaching my niece to play pinochle now, at a very young age, because I am 39 years old and I still don't know how to bid. I am basically the world's least competent card shark. (I'm great at spades, though.)

This what July 4th looked like -- an ENTIRE DAY of my crazy kid being crazy. It was pretty awesome, actually, although it was too damned hot.

I included this picture for no particular reason except that I love these two.

Graduation / Recital Weekend

Shae graduated from kindergarten on June 14th. I've been trying to write about it since then, but I haven't really been able to, because this happened ...

... and it promptly (and repeatedly) made me lose my ever-loving shit.

"Tomorrow" is totally my jam, you guys. It is dorky and irrational and whatever, but this song has gotten me through SO MUCH in the last 39 years. I saw "Annie" on Broadway way back when I was somewhere around Shae's age, and it's stuck with me all that time. Formative years, and whatnot. "Tomorrow" is not just adorable when sung by a bunch of adorable little moppets -- it's practically anthemic.

No, seriously. I know my soul has become blackened and singed and poisoned with snark over the years (SPOILER ALERT: this is what happens to optimistic idealists who forcibly become cynical realists over time) but when stuff is bad, I mean REALLY bad, I still stick out my chin and grin and say, "The sun'll come out tomorrow." It doesn't make everything better, not right away, but it keeps me from self-medicating, a lot of the time.

Related: had I known that the class's performance was going to be SO MOVING (shut up I'm a sap we all know this already don't you judge me), then I would have left her hair in its natural state, because COME ON. Her curls are PERFECT for singing songs from "Annie."

They are not quite as perfect for fitting under a graduation cap, however. (I just realized I never posted any pictures from last year's preschool graduation, probably because we had that tragic, tragic haircut and then we left pretty much right away for Chicago, but here's a link for reference. We have about 33% fewer teeth this year, not that you can tell, but we're offsetting that by about 500% more hair, so I'd call that pretty much a wash.)

As if graduation wasn't enough of an emotional wringer, Shae's first official dance recital was they very next day. She's already been in a Christmas pageant of sorts, but this was the first Big One: costumes, lighting, tickets, flowers, etc. Her class danced to "I Feel Pretty," which was another emotional rollercoaster for me, because one of the greatest times of my life was being in West Side Story in college, so of course the entire thing was fraught with DRAMEMORIES!

Everybody came to see her -- mother-in-law, parents, my sister and niece and even my brother-in-law -- so my kid was pretty much over the moon about all of the attention. She's already talking about next year. We ordered official pictures and the performance DVD and whatnot, and I'll figure out how to include that stuff later without violating copyrights (no lie, I am SCARED of the lady who runs the dance school and I DO NOT want her to come after me), but here is a little behind-the-scenes footage in the meantime:

(By the way, ALL the girls in her class did that, for 45 MINUTES, while they were waiting to go on in the second half of the show. I got dizzy just watching them.)

Adventure Time

Shae has a bunch of stuff coming up this week that is probably a much bigger deal to me than it is to her: first flat-ironings, dance recitals, graduation, stuff like that. Milestones are kind of meaningless when you're six and your whole life is literally ahead of you. Of course, I'll be a total cracked-out mess, as usual, with all the pictures to prove it. In the meantime: a story.

= = = = =

We don't watch a lot of superhero shows in our house. We're not really opposed to them, in theory, but Shae is highly suggestible and we're just trying to be proactive about any potential behavioral changes that might result from exposure to stuff she's not ready for. Others probably call this a symptom of the "pussification" of our children; they're probably correct to a large degree. But at the same time, these Others don't have to live with a kid who thinks that all adopted children -- e.g., Superman, Hercules, the Power Puff Girls -- have either super powers or Daddy Warbuckses.

But like every kid ever born in America ever, my kid is at least aware of your major superheroes. Batman, Iron Man, Wonder Woman, etc. It might be a while before she understands why funny sideburns and yellow Spandex sometimes makes Mommy weak in the knees (by the old gods and the new, I hope this remains the case), but she knows who the X-Men are. And she already knows that when she grows up, she's going to be the superhero who saves everybody, "not just some silly boy who only saves the pretty girls with down hair."

So why is this blog post all pictures of my niece running around my uncle's back yard wearing a scarf around her neck, superhero-style?

Because more than once, when someone asked her who she was pretending to be, while she was doing this very thing ...

... my niece said, "Super-Shae!" And Shae would reply, "Makayla is my hero." And they were both right.

Falling For You

These kids in my family are weird. When we got out to Chicago for our big visit last month, the weather was lovely, sunny and clear and just a touch of that familiar autumnal chill, so the Grown Ups had this fabulous idea: let's rake all the leaves in my sister's yard into a big pile and jump in it! Fun, right?

So we raked and piled and organized as much as possible -- trying to get three kids to gather leaves into a single pile in the center of the yard where there is good light is about as simple as trying to explain the infield fly rule to Martians who only speak Swahili -- and made our fun little pile of fun. We figured that the most complicated part of this entire process would be trying to determine who would get to jump in first. Ladies first? Age before beauty?

Except THESE LOONBALL CHILDREN OF OURS did not want to jump in the leaves. We had to negotiate and cajole and bribe and practically threaten them to put the rakes down and stop doing work and GO PLAY, DARN IT. We eventually got them (2/3 of them, anyway) to roll around in the leaves, and thrown them, and stuff. Lollipops might have been involved. (Joey was unconvinced, regardless.)

Shae finally "saved the day" by burying herself in a pile and popping out and yelling "BOO!" at everybody. Except, um, she was in the wrong pile. Instead of the nice pile we made in the yard, she went and hid in the big pile in the front of the house, right on the street, in the pile that was waiting for the industrial leaf sucker. Le sigh.

Forward

First things first: obviously, I'm not doing NaBloPoMo this year. Or NaNoWriMo, either, for that matter. Just in case you were wondering.

Second things second: I'm sorry it's been forever and a day since I last posted. Would it help if I told you that in the meantime I've been driving through a hurricane and somehow landing myself in an honor society? No?

Third things third: because I know my audience (hi, Mom!) here are some pictures. I'm putting up the Halloween ones first because there is less than a week left until Thanksgiving and the pictures of the kids rolling around in the leaves will still be appropriate then.

 

It is COMPLETELY IMPOSSIBLE to get a photo of these guys where they're all looking in the same direction at the same time. But they ARE totes adorbs (hi, babe!) so WHATEVER.

  

Joey and Jacob may not, technically, have been aware that I was taking their picture here, but they're sure cute. And also total clones of my sisters, so obviously we know who their mother is.

  

I hope I never get tired of how Makayla follows Shae around everywhere, and how Shae does her best to be a good big sister, even though these two are cousins.

  

Of course, it is hard not to love this face, or this kid, who lets me pretend to eat her face and loves to play along with my favorite game, "Don't Drop The Baby!" When I say, "Don't drop the baby!" now, she says it right along with me. I miss this age, kind of, sometimes. And then I remember how often you have to say "No" to a two-year-old and I get over it.

  

If you think about it too long and too hard (or if, for example, you are a future literature teacher who's actually read The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and not just seen the Disney version of the movie), there is probably something inappropriate about letting my kid dress up as Esmeralda for Halloween.

  

But you know what? I've been accused of far worse than indulging my kid and her desire to redefine what makes a "princess," you know?