What is Ed wearing on his head?

I think it's the beach Frisbee, but I can't be sure. Perhaps it's a kicky chapeau.

We arrived at the beach, and Scarlett pointed to the ocean and announced "Pool!" Then she looked around for Michael Phelps.

PreSchool Musical

There are a lot of pictures to sort through from this weekend, and some of them even have children in them. The rest are of a bunch of hot women, who don't look remotely like they are 40.

Maybe we were just overly tired, but we laughed until we cried about this one. My favorite part is about the 8 second mark, when Charlie does the "call back".

I wanna be like her when I grow up.

Scarlett and I are off to Connecticut tomorrow. Someone is turning 40 this weekend, and we thought we'd hand deliver our birthday present.

How on earth did I NOT see this coming?

I mean, it was racing down the road at me, full speed. There it is - a toddler. A table. New legs. Duh.

I really don't know how she got in the drawer. On top, yeah, I get that. She's a monkey. But in? No. I'm at a bit of a loss on that one.

Wait till she figures out she can put Alice in there.

Through Scarlett's whole ordeal this year, one thing has never wavered. Her love of the train table at the local children's bookstore. When she was in the cast, I was able to prop her on my knee and she could play, more or less on the same level as the other kids.

In the brace, she was able to pull herself to standing, and gained a bit more independence. Now that the brace is gone, she's working on getting stronger and learning how to balance. In the long run, it was going to be cheaper to get our own so I didn't feel obliged to pay rent on the one in the store. It's also got these big deep drawers that hold all of her toys, and make mommy very happy.

Sunday night I spent much time with a little wrench named Allen, but the end result was worth it. Even after I realized that I'd put the drawer bottoms on wrong. Twice.

What passes for a reptile in these parts.

Charlie, if Scarlett had been with you when you saw that gator, this is what she would have done.



First time at the zoo with no brace. Opens up a whole new world of photo ops.

I've been hiding. From bugs.

Kevin ‘accidentally’ discovered a nest of Yellow Jackets this past weekend, and we’ve spent the time since parking in the front of the house, sneaking past them and employing such timeless gags as “Hey! Yellow Jackets! Look over THERE!” and praying that they won’t attack.

My husband dedicated himself to the humane removal of the nest, by first attempting to drown them, and later, to suffocate them. He’s very kind. And cheap. But mostly kind.

After the 2ND failed attempt at humanely dispatching the bastards, I mean God’s creatures, we called in backup.

He arrived in his shiny, and one can only assume, bug free van, and promptly had a stroke brought on by laughter at what passes for extermination around here. We also apparently closed off one of the holes with our flooding, so he had to sort of blindly stab at the ground with the chemical grenade to kill them. Along with our creeping whatchacalit that the nest was under.

So that was the beginning of our week. Trapped like rats. By bugs. It's like a vermin festival.

There's been other fun goings on, so stay tuned.

Look Ma! No Brace!

hthttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPDvQklLUOQ

I tried to "share" this video from youtube no less than 4 times. I give up. You can click the link - it's roughly the same amount of work for you as if I had actually made it function correctly.

I hate computers.

Edited: Today is Saturday. Youtube finally posted the video link. [All four times, of course.] Sorry, suckers - too little, too late.

Just picture it in a pink tutu. With spurs.

Doesn't it look like she's doing little plie's and releve's?

Either that, or she's still slightly cowgirl'd, and the idea of standing on straight legs will just take a little time. One thing I failed to realize was that the brace was holding up her pants. I either need to learn to hem, or that kid has to figure out how to hitch those suckers up.

Go ahead. Look it up on Wikipedia. I'll wait.

I jokingly told Dr. Mehlman yesterday that I thought we suffered from a family wide case of Stockholm Syndrome, and that hip dysplasia was our captor. We are scared of the brace, but perhaps we are more scared to be without the brace.

I think I've realized I wasn't joking.

Yesterday the orthopaedic clinic was packed to the gills. The hospital* recently changed computer systems, which means that until 4 gazillion employees know the new software, all hell can and will regularly break loose. Our part of that hell was spending close to 4 hours in a holding pattern, with tiny 10 minute breaks for an x-ray and a consult with the doctor.

The staff was horrified for us, and I find these circumstances easy to forgive, because, well, we have Stockholm Syndrome. I mean, a normal person would have probably left, right? But we sat there, and drew letter after letter, plied with pretzels, played with toys from the supposed clean toy bin, and waited.

The end result is this. She's out of the brace during the day.

It's time to learn how to walk.


*Meaning every single brick and mortar structure related to a major metropolitan hospital campus, up to and including buildings located 40 odd miles away. So, you know, easy peasy. Half a dozen IT guys should be fine, right?

Greyscale is the New Black.

No, I don't have any idea what I'm doing. I found a button on my computer that magically turned these snapshots into something I wasn't responsible for.

The top photo is the only one I think perhaps I shouldn't mess with. Despite the vicious red overtones, thanks to a sunny day and a colorful piece of playground equipment, I think the black and white copy loses something.

The color version:

See? I think the eyes say something here. Something like "If you don't put down the camera, I'm going to launch myself head first down the slide, and since you are standing over there, and I'm over here...well, you get the drift."

"Oh, and give me a pretzel." Yes. The eyes definitely say that, too.

To the nice lady at Biggs:

Thanks. Scarlett now thinks that every time she rolls into the grocery store, someone will hand her an oreo.

A crime wave.

Found: One felt sheep stuck to the Velcro on my daughter's butt. I believe she was attempting to smuggle them out of the children's museum one by one, until she had an entire set of farm animals at her disposal. Busted. Unfortunately for me, busted at home, after the crime had occurred. I will have to smuggle it back in next week.

It is slightly genius on her part. Not that I would ever consider using this to my advantage. For example, I would never let her crawl through my favorite stores, just to see what sticks.

Because it's summer, and there's nothing on TV.

See this playroom?

This playroom right here?

Last night at 9pm it was spotless. Puzzle pieces in place. Trains with train stuff, farm animals in the barn, soft toys and miscellaneous tucked into the toy basket. It was peaceful and organized. A joy to behold.

I took the first picture roughly 11 hours later. The second, I have zoomed in and located who I believe to be the perp. I'm actually convinced there may have been an accomplice, because 1 toddler + 30 minutes cannot possibly = giant tornado having torn through my former dining room.

There's all sorts of offenders around here. Someone accidentally spilled some coffee on the sofa this morning, and in an effort to not be apprehended, I - I mean they - took the slip cover off the couch cushion and cleaned it. Only when I - again, they - flipped the cushion over, they were dismayed to find that somehow a little dog with blond hair had managed to shed on the underside. I do not understand how that works, but I do understand that my crime is probably one of neglect. In that I have neglected to rotate the cushions. [It is a high compliment to the manufacturer of our couch that no true ass-wells have formed.] I will remedy this situation, as soon as the spot treated cushion has dried.

None of you will ever willingly sit on my sofa again, will you?

Seriously. I'm taking care of it. It will be properly vacuumed and rotated by the time you come over. But I can't promise a small dog won't curl up in your lap and lick your wrist anyway. So if you don't like fur, you should probably tell me that you are washing your hair.