There's a reason we call him The Boy

Ruth has been obsessing over a reality show called "Say Yes To The Dress." I am embarrassed to admit, I have been caught wanting to watch the next episode on Netflix, even though every episode is the same. Someone goes over-budget. Someone else has the mom from you-know-where. Someone brings too many people. Someone else brings her fiance and then can't figure out why he could care less about the dress. And yet another someone also brings her fiance and he's too picky.

It doesn't matter what episode we're on, amazingly, I get sucked in. If nothing else, it gives us good girl bonding time, and I get to set her future expectations waaaay low. Sure, I have a quite a while yet before Ruth will become a bridezilla, but it doesn't hurt to start brainwashing her now.

"Don't think we'll be buying you a $12,000 dress," Jeremy told her as he passed through the living room one night while she and I were watching an episode.
"Yeah, I already told her that," I said, my eyes glazed over as we watched the next catastrophe cross the screen.
"So what kind of dress can I buy?" Ruth asked, looking up at him.
"Not a $12,000 one," he said. And he walked up the stairs without looking backward once.

Tonight on the ride to Joshua's drum lesson, Ruth asked Hannah, "So, when I go to buy my wedding dress, someday in the future..."
"The far future," I said.
"Yes, Mama, The Faaaar Future," she said. I didn't even know you could capitalize the spoken word, but apparently Ruth knows how. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, will you come with me?"
Hannah chirped "Of course!" as if it was a no-brainer. "And I'll give you loooootttssss of feedback." An ornery expression crossed her face as she rubbed her hands together in evil glee.
"I dunno, Ruth," I said, catching Hannah's expression in my rear-view mirror. "You won't get a lot of good feedback from Hannah. It won't be negative, but I can assure you it might not be positive either. I'm pretty sure you'll get some silly feedback." Hannah giggled, partly because I used her 'word of the day,' and partly because I had read her ornery little mind. Ruthie held her breath while she considered her sister for a moment, so I continued, "But I will tell you this, don't even bother dragging your brother along dress shopping to get the 'male perspective.'" I implied in so many words that he wouldn't be of much help.

Joshua, who was zoned out in the front seat throughout this whole conversation, suddenly tuned in. "Hey! Why wouldn't you want to take me?"
"Dress shopping? Wedding dress shopping?" I asked, incredulous. "Twenty seconds in you'd be fidgeting and saying 'I'm bored. They're all white. What does it matter? Just pick one, Ruth.' And then your little sister will be so upset with you."
"Yeah, well. That's true. But wait, I do have some opinion. You know. I don't like it when those dresses have...what's that called...you know, that frill thing. You know. It's long and sleek and then the frill?" He started gesturing in vain, moving his hands in a rounded motion near his mid-section, as if that was going to help us know what he was talking about. "It flares out, or balloons, or bubbles or something."
"Ruffles?" Ruthie asked.
"Lace?" Hannah guessed.
"What is the frill?" I asked.
"That thing. That thing that goes here. It goes here." He gestured again at his middle. "It's on all dresses. Only sometimes it's lower. Only I like it when it's here." he pointed at his middle again.
"You mean the Trumpet style or the Mermaid?" Ruth said reading her brother's mind.
"The WHAT?!" he said, twisting in his seat to look at her, his expression filled with amazement. "How do you KNOW these things?" he asked. It's a magical mystical power to Josh. He frequently alternates between seeing us females as nonsensical creatures who care too much about "silly" "pointless" "female" details, and being in awe that we have knowledge beyond his ken.
"The Trumpet or the Mermaid style dress. When the dress is sleek all the way down and then the skirt flares out below the butt," Ruth explained.
"EXACTLY." Joshua pointed at Ruth. "Exactly." He said with even more passionate emphasis. "I don't like those kind of dresses when the frill is below the butt."
"Frill?" I started to laugh. Ruth and Hannah joined in.
"He calls it a frill," Ruth leaned over and whispered to Hannah. Hannah nodded and looked smug in all her female wisdom.
A very put-out Joshua said, "Well, I don't know what it's called!" We were obviously ganging up on him, and he was obviously unhappy about being left out of some secret knowledge that we all seemed to share.
After a good laugh, I turned to him and said, "It's OK, Josh. We just might worry about you if you knew all about dresses, especially wedding dresses."
"Whatever," He said, crossing his arms across his chest. He turned to stare out the window. He was obviously done with the likes of us giggling females.

"And that," I said to Ruth, "Is why you don't take some men dress shopping with you."

"If I made a movie..."

We were strolling leisurely back to our vacation rental, ice cream in hand (or Italian ice in my case, thank you milk allergy) satisfied after a good competitive game of miniature golf.

"So, this was nice, wasn't it?" I asked the family.
"YEAH." Joshua said, emphatically, "It sure beats sitting at the condo listening to music or watching bad girl teen dramas on television."
"Or Animal Planet."
"Thank you, Joshua, " I said, "for wrestling the remote from your sisters this afternoon."
"I KNOW!" He said, "I couldn't take 'Victorious' one more second. I mean, all those shows are the same!"
"HEY!" piped up Ruth. "I LIKE Victorious."
"But the plot is always the same: 'I'll hook you up with one of my friends and then it will all go wrong and in the end we should have just talked about it anyway," Joshua said in his 'girly voice' impression.
"Soooo," Ruth said.
"Oh, and 'GUY' shows and movies don't have the same plot?!?" I asked. "Oh, let me chase the bad guy in a car, and then shoot everyone, but I'm the good guy so I won't get even a graze when the bad guys shoot at me with automatic weapons, and in the end something HUGE has to be blown-up: a skyscraper, a helicopter, a 747..."
"Actually," Jeremy interrupted, "It's more like, the bad guy tries to kill the good guy with some elaborate and overly complicated scheme and then says 'Well, since you're going to die anyway, let me tell you my nefarious plans,' and then he leaves allowing five or more hours for the good guy to escape when in reality a bullet to the head would have allowed him to continue on in his evil merry ways."
"This is true," I replied.
"And in fact," Jeremy continued, "It's been documented there are only so many plots in the world, and everything is a variation within."
"Really?" The kids asked.
"So they say," Jeremy said.
"But what if I came up with my own plot?" Ruth asked.
"It would still be a variation of one of those documented," I replied, "According to this theory."
"Not if I made a movie," Hannah chimed in. "If I made a movie, it would be totally random. It'd start with a picture of lard, and then there'd be a duck, and it might come and eat the lard. I'm not quite sure about that part just yet."
"Yup, That'd be totally random, Hannah," I said.
"Did she said Lard?!?" Ruth asked.
"Lard?" Joshua said.
"And a duck," Hannah said. "Don't forget the duck."

A few moments of silence...

It was late, and we were driving home from the mega-monster-club-warehouse-store. The night was cool, the windows down, and the night sounds might have been floating into our car, for all we knew. The noise in the van was nearly over-powering. The children were wild and rambunctious, due to excitement over the up and coming vacation. We also knew the girls were over-tired. It was almost ten o'clock, and an hour past bed-time. But Jeremy and I let them burn off their energy, knowing the girls would crash the minute they got home. Josh, on the other hand, being the night-owl that he is, was just amping up.

"Dadddddddy! Mamaaaa! Joshua is poking me from behind and I DON'T like it!" Ruthie whined from the back of the van. "Tell him to STOP."
"Well, Ruth, did you ask him to stop?" Jeremy asked her.
"Yesssss." She drew out the word.
"Josh, did your sister ask you to stop?"
"Yeah," came the sheepish reply.
"Then Joshua, when we get home, I'm spanking you," Jeremy said sternly.

We heard crickets for about 30 seconds, the silence deafening.

"BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy and I started to laugh so hard we could hardly contain ourselves. The back of the van broke out in that nervous "hahaha we knew you were joking...hahaha" kind of laughter.

Jer wiped his eyes and said, "Oh man. I just couldn't hold it straight any longer than that. That was awesome. The silence. chirp chirp. chirp chirp. It was so quiet you really COULD hear the crickets outside. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahaa"

A disgruntled Joshua called from the back, "I should have KNOWN you were joking. I was like "What the heck?!?' in my head. I can't believe I fell for that."

Ms. Witty Strikes Again

"Hannah go call your sister for dinner," I said.
"SUUUUEEEEYYYY!!!" She called.

It's that time of year...

...when I run around like I'm only wearing one half of the chicken suit, trying to get kids to this event, or that, finding out we don't have the right outfit, or the right shoes for the concert.  

 Last night was the girls' spring concert.  Ruth did amazingly well for her last concert, despite the pre-concert hiccup.  I wasn't sure how it would go, because she was distressed beforehand. Jeremy had to work, and there wasn't any way he could get out of it. One set of  grandparents, my parents, weren't coming. An hour before showtime, Ruth's big brown eyes grew wide, and watered up. 
"What's wrong baby?" I asked
"Nothing," she said, as a small tear tracked down her cheek
"No one is coming." she said quietly.
"Nana and P-pop might. I think they are. But you'll have Joshua, Hannah and I there, at least"
Another tear tracked down her cheek.  Then a few more after that.  Not more than five or six tears, but still, she cried and broke my heart.   I bribed her back to good cheer with hot rollers and the ability to wear lip gloss and some light blush.  Thankfully,  Nana and P-pop did show up, and she smiled between songs throughout the whole concert.  I recorded everything:  band, chorus, and the third-grade recorder Karate.

What is Recorder Karate? It's a way to allow the students to progress through the recorder music at their own pace. Each song they pass, they get a new "belt" (a piece of embroidery floss in a different color tied to the bottom of their recorder).  After a student gets through all their "belts' they can work on earning beads, which are tied onto the bottom of the 'belts."  When Joshua was in third grade, he viewed the whole "Recorder Karate" as a competition.  I saw and heard the recorder every single solitary night as he attempted to take down his fellow third graders by being the first and only one to complete all belts and beads and go on beyond. He even figured out how to play "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" without the music.  In fact, for awhile there, the recorder took precedence over the drums.  Scary thought.

Ruth approached the whole "Recorder Karate" program with more sensibility.  She didn't obsess or compete, but she didn't slack either.  I can't recall how far along she got, but it was pretty close to the end of the 'belts."  Unfortunately, only a few years ago, did the music teacher invite the third graders to play their recorder karate selections at the spring concert.  So I never did get to hear Ruthie play with her classmates.

Hannah on the other hand, well, lets just say, I never saw the recorder in her hot little hand until last night.  If last night could even count.  Oh sure, she had it in her hand, but playing it?  That is the question at hand.





This morning, because Ruth's french horn was home, she took it out of the case and began playing it.  Joshua, always in competition with the world, attempted to make a noise and couldn't.  I heard Ruth's voice as she sang, taunting him, "You can't play it. You can't make a sound and I caa-aan. Ha ha ha ha ha ha."  So she took the horn back, played some more notes, and sang "ha ha ha ha ha ha" again.

A few minutes later, as Joshua and I were bundled into the van, he pursed his lips and began buzzing them. 
"What are you doing?" I asked, "Trying to figure out how to make the embouchure for the french horn?"
"What's that?" He asked
"The way you hold your mouth when you play an instrument. Each instrument has a different embouchure," I answered.
"Oh.  Well you see. Ruth taunted me, she sang 'ha ha ha ha ha you can't make a sound and I caaaaannn'  and now it's a competition. I MUST make a sound.  so I MUST practice."

I confess, sometimes it's a little frightening to get glimpses into the minds of my children.

Who spilled the beans?

Because I find it difficult to find things I like to pack for lunch, I always come home half-starved after work. So, the minute I walk in the door, I set my things down and look for the nearest snack at hand. Yesterday, it was the can of cashews still sitting out from breakfast. I figured Hannah probably had had a handful along with whatever else she had scrounged up to eat before school. Since she is the master of unique breakfast cuisine, it didn't strike me as unusual. If anything, I was annoyed that the cashews had been sitting out all day.

So I opened the can of generic cashews, and noticed these small red beans mixed in with the "nuts."
"What on earth are those?" I said to myself as I shook the can around to see if it was just on the top. "They look like dried kidney beans."
"I don't know," Hannah said. I noticed her expression shone bright with curiosity. "Let me see!" I was still holding the can when she pulled the can downward to get a better view.
"Yeah, Me too," said Ruth, coming over to us to have a peek at the mysterious cashews and beans.
We all looked into the can and dug around a bit. "Maybe the manufacturing lines got crossed? But what an odd thing to get mixed in. I would think they'd accidentally mix in peanuts or something. Not dried beans."
"Yeah, that's weird," Hannah said. I looked at her again, suspicious, but her face was still a picture of innocence.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" I asked
"I don't know how that could have happened," Hannah said. We played the staring game for a few seconds, while I looked for any signs of deception. Seeing none, not even her cute but ornery expression, I tucked my misgivings into the back of my mind, and picked around the beans to eat a few cashews.

Jeremy arrived home a few hours later and I showed him the can of cashews. "Weird," he said. "Maybe we should take a picture, and send it to the manufacturer."
"Nah. It's generic. It wasn't as if this was an expensive can of nuts." I said.
"True." He picked around the beans, digging around to see how thoroughly mixed they were, stopping every so often to pick up a nut and pop it into his mouth.
"I dunno. I ate a few, but wondering if I should have just tossed the can," I said, mildly worried.
"Eh, it's probably alright." Jeremy ate a few more nuts.
"I'm sure it's fine," Hannah added.

Putting the can aside both physically and mentally, we began our hectic evening routine, and didn't contemplate the kidney beans at all until later last night. We're in the last week of the school musical which means more hustle and bustle than usual. Joshua came home from dress rehearsal, walked in the door, and noticed his father holding the cashews. Inspecting the contents once more, Jeremy said, "Yanno, I really think someone tampered with this." He subtly gestured with his head at the jar of dried kidney beans sitting on the piano, completely out of place.

I glanced surreptitiously over at the piano. "You think?" I said, feigning stupidity. "I don't know. Where on earth would they have gotten the beans? I don't think we have any dried beans laying around here..."
Losing his composure, Joshua began howling with laughter.
"You just gave yourself away," Jeremy pointed out matter of fact.
"I know!" Josh said between spurts of laughter. "I'm the worst liar in the world. I cannot lie at all! Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!"
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" I asked.
"It wasn't just me!" Josh said, indignantly. "Hannah was there too!"
"Well, your little sister is a little bit scary how easily she can lie to us. She didn't give anything away at all this afternoon when you weren't here."
He laughed even harder.

This morning as we sat around the breakfast table, I made eye contact with Hannah. Picking up the cashews, I shook them a few times, looking at her expectantly. She countered with a confused expression. I shook them again, and she said, "What?"
"The gig is up," I said. "Your brother gave you away last night."
Joshua started laughing again, as Hannah glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "I'm sorry!" he told her, "I couldn't help myself!"
"It wasn't really me," she protested. "Joshua is the one who put the beans into the can and shook it up."
"But you were his accomplice," I said. "Guilt by association. Oh, and here's a tip: I would highly recommend not getting into mischief with your brother. He'll always give you away."

Baking 101

Once upon a time, I baked everyday of the week. It seemed I always had a recipe I was tweaking, baking without recipes, just tossing stuff together, and whipping out things that were pretty well received. I heard enough complements to be able to say with all modesty, I was, back in the day, a half-decent baker. No doubt, I inherited the genes from the grandmother and great-grandmother whose baked goods were to die for, and whose recipes were sketchy at best, because neither had measured when they baked. 

A few years ago, I developed a sensitivity to wheat. At first it was thought I had Celiac Disease, a not-so rare disorder where gluten sensitivity causes damage to small intestine, making absorption of nutrients next to impossible. There's a bit more to it than this, but that's the basic premise of the disease, as it was told to me at the time. I lost thirty pounds in about a six week span. Oddly enough, tests remained inconclusive until the genetic test was done. I don't carry the gene. I can't have the disease. However, during that time, I switched to gluten free baking, and boy, was that a challenge. I made my own flour mixes, tweaked recipes to suit my tastes, and in the end, discovered I could create foods better than I could buy. But it was twice as much work, the flours three times as expensive, and I needed four times the space to store some of my flours.

Many might argue with me on that last point, but I found that I preferred to use a large variety of gluten free flours to make my baked goods taste as close to the real thing as possible. And since I bought bulk to save money and to make my own baking mixes, I needed space to store the flours. Over time, I became really burned out with baking, and didn't even touch a mixer until my daughters began expressing interest. There was one problem. I didn't even own a bag of all-purpose flour anymore.

So I began teaching Ruth how to bake using pre-made, store-bought mixes: cookie mixes, muffin mixes, cake mixes...if there was a mix, we bought it, and she made it. It was easier for me, at the time, to buy her a mix when I grocery shopped, than to start building up my much depleted baking supplies. And out of necessity, I discovered a really good stepping stool for teaching a child how to bake for real. Mixes taught Ruth how to follow step by step directions. And they ensured that the final product came out edible, so there was a measure of success Ruth always achieved from her labors. The positive reinforcement for a her, in my mind, out-weighed the negatives of a baking mix a purist might have.

Over time, I began purchasing the necessary ingredients needed so I could teach my child "How to bake from scratch." And over time, Ruth has become rather adept at following a recipe, for the most part. I have spent hours standing over her, teaching her how to crack and egg, cream butter, knead dough for bread... She's grown to love the process as much as the end results. As she's matured, she has developed the patience to see the project through to the end, rather than leaving me to finish what she started. For a child with inattentive type ADHD, whose brain has developed differently and has been maturing more slowly (in some ways), using a mix as an intermediate step has been a wonderful way to build up to more serious baking.

At this point in her childhood, Ruth most certainly has the baking mixes down to a science. She even baked her father's birthday cake from a mix last month when I wasn't even there to supervise. Jeremy was home, but didn't even have a clue that Ruth had started his cake. To say the least, I was impressed that she was able to manage all the steps on her own, and pay attention to the cake in the oven.

Joshua turned the plate, while Ruth decorated her cake for Daddy.

On Thursday, Hannah decided it was her turn to learn how to bake. There was one small problem. I was still not up to speed on Thursday. I was still channel surfing from my prone position on the couch. No longer wishing for death, I was still not real enthusiastic about being upright and productive.

"I want to make my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies," Hannah said.

"I'd like to have a million dollars," I said.

"Aww." She looked at me with the biggest saddest eyes should could muster, and said, "I just really want to make cookies."

"Look," I said. "I'm not up to making cookies today. But your sister is really good at it, and if you promise not to fight with her, I'll let you make cookies IF and ONLY IF you listen to her as she teaches you how to use a baking mix."

"Ok," Hannah promised quickly. "I won't fight."

"I'll be sitting right here listening to you. I'm holding you to your word." I knew her word wasn't worth a hill of beans, and braced myself for the inevitable fight.

"Ok," Ruth said. "Now you have to read all the directions through at least once. I like to read them twice."

Good girl, I thought.
"I did read them," Hannah said.

"Really?" Ruth asked.

"Yeessss," Hannah said, exasperated.

"Ok. Now you're going to pre-heat the oven, did you do that?"

"I can't even reach the buttons."

"Fine. I'll pre-heat the oven," Ruth said. "Now, when you crack the egg, make sure you don't get the shells in there. Hannah WAIT. The mix says the butter and egg have to be blended FIRST!"

"BUT I WANT TO PUT THE MIX IN NOW!"

"BUT YOU'RE NOT FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS!"

"I DON'T NEED TO FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS!!!"

I stopped the fight before it went too far, and called Hannah into the living room. "Hannah," I said, "What did I say about fighting?"

"But she's being bossy."

"I know what bossy sounds like. I've heard Ruth be bossy. She is NOT being bossy. Ruth is being instructive, and you are not listening."

"But I want to do it MY way."

"Listen, Hannah," I said, soothingly, "I love and appreciate your strong sense of individuality and your need to go against the flow. But not all things in life work that way, and baking is one of them. You must must must follow the directions, whether it be a box mix, or a real recipe. If you cannot find it in your little unique and original soul to be conventional for this one short moment in time, I'm afraid Ruth will have to finish baking your cookies."

She looked at me, blinked a few times, and said, "O.K."

"Ok?" I asked to make sure.

"Yeah, O.K."

"Trust me, baby. You'll like your cookies much better if you follow the directions. I know how hard it is to do what the package tells you, but you have to, at least when you're learning. One day when you're good at this? You can mess up the recipe any way you like. But I have to tell you a secret...even when you change up recipe, you still have to follow a basic set of rules, or it won't turn out."

She nodded, and turned back into the kitchen looking a little bit defeated.

Until we ate the cookies. Hopefully, Hannah learned something from all of this: sometimes going with the flow is o.k. too. Especially when there's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the line.

Dinner with the Mels

They say family dinners are important time to bond with your kids and spouse. I wouldn't argue the point, because when family dinner is summarily taken away, one begins to realize what one has missed. Last Wednesday I had minor surgery that became a much more major ordeal. Because of various factors, I've not been healing as fast as the doctor expected, or I would have liked, and pain management has been a real problem. In other words, I hurt. I hurt bad. And to combat that pain, I've been on gooood stuff. The kind of stuff that melts my brain, makes peach fuzz of my memory, and mince meat of my hand-eye coordination. Maybe someone else wouldn't blink to be put on a pain pill, but I'm a lightweight. It doesn't take much to turn me into a marshmallow.

I've not left my perch on the couch for much more than transitioning from the bedroom in the morning to the living room, back to the bedroom at night. As a result, the house has been in a state of continuous chaos as Jeremy worked sixty hours or more over the last few weeks and at the same time attempted to take over all the chores I normally do. Meanwhile I laid on the couch in a drug induced state, covered in ice bags, or heating pads, and basically whined my little heart out. The children are resentful that they now have more chores (gasp) to help pick up the slack. And they have realized (smart children that they are) I'm in too bad of shape to really be of any threat. It's not as if I'm suddenly going to get up and chase them around the house with a wooden spoon, right? One easy dodge, the child goes right, I swerve left, and there I am, sprawled indecorously on the floor. I know this, and they know this, so I've been dealing with 'tude, and emotional meltdowns, and well, pretty much everything children do when Mom is out of commission. (And this is a joke to illustrate a point in an outrageous manner. One can never be too sure these days...always better to have a disclaimer).

Today was the first day in a week and a half, I was up,  sort-of about, and off the  heavy-duty pain pills. So I decided to go one step further and have a much needed family dinner to help instill a much needed sense of normalcy. Jeremy had prepared baked chicken the night before, so it was a simple matter of reheating, and cooking up some side dishes. Thank you birds-eye for your steam-in-bag veggies and potatoes. We might all die from cancer some day from microwaving our food in plastic bags, but it sure saved us some much needed time tonight.

We barely sat down to our food on our plates when the conversation started up.

"I'm eating chicken. You know what? I need my chicken suit to eat chicken," Hannah said.

"You'd be a cannibal," Jeremy replied.

"OH! Then, I really really need my suit!" She started to get out of her chair when her spoilsport father told her to sit back down.

In his usual non-sequitur manner, Joshua decided to add to the budding conversation, "Man my lips are chapped, and I have this crack in the corner of my..."

"Then you shouldn't be kissing your girlfriend," I interrupted without skipping a beat.

"WHAT?!? I...Not...I'M NOT...WHAT?!" He stuttered, indignantly.

"AW aw aw aw!! He's guiiiilty. He's been kissing his girlfriend," Ruth and Hannah sung.

"I have NOT," Joshua said, while crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his chair.

"Don't worry, Josh," Jeremy said. "When they get bigger you can embarrass them in front of their boyfriends."

"Yeah, I can tell him how Hannah..."

"I'd stop right there, Sir," I said. "Because you were worse than she was..." I left the sentence dangling and looked over at the girls whose expressions could only be described as containing gleeful sibling malice.

"Yeah Josh..." Ruth added, rubbing her hands together. "Go ahead and tell stories. See what we come up with for you. Muhahahahahaha."

Joshua turned his lips in towards his teeth as he always does when thwarted but considering other strategies. "Hmm," He said as he poked a green bean with his fork, "You're right. I don't think that would be so smart."

"You know," Jeremy said changing the subject. "We need to pop a huge batch of popcorn, and take videos of us while we see who can stick the most pieces of popcorn on our tongues." He laughed when he saw my expression.

"YEAH!" Joshua said enthusiastically. "Then we can run it on repeat on the dvd player and Mom will have to watch it over and over and over because SHE'S STUCK ON THE COUCH!!!"

If that isn't motivation to get better...I'm not sure what is.

For Ruth, he'll tolerate anything

I walked through the living room the other morning, as I am often wont to do, passing by Oswald's cage. A quick glance at the fuzz bunny out of the corner of my eye, my brain registered something was off. I stopped, quickly looked down at the rabbit, and still couldn't quite register what wasn't right.

Ohhhhh, he has a paper hat on! A PAPER HAT!?  Oswald was laying in his cage, all stretched out and relaxed as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. "Hey Ruth!" I called out to Ruth who was sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast, "Why is the rabbit wearing a paper hat? Is that a paper hat?"

"Yes," She said. "I made it for him."

"Um, Paper hats on rabbits, not a good idea," I said, lips pressed tight, shaking my head. "Take it off."

"But he looks so cuuuuuute," Ruthie said.  "And look, I even made ear holes in it."

Last Night I Got a Glimpse of My Future

"Cole asked me to the fifth and sixth grade dance," Ruthie announced yesterday after dinner. The fifth and sixth grade dance is a bit of a joke. It's loud music, and packs of ten through twelve year olds roaming around the cafeteria, stopping once and awhile to graze at the food table. About five to ten people actually dance in a group.  The boys usually stay on one half of the room, the girls to the other. Being 'asked' to the dance, well, I wasn't too worried...yet. It wasn't as if I was going to let her actually get picked up at our front door for the dance. Meeting at the cafeteria door? Sure. If that's being 'asked' to the dance, well, I can't argue about that.

"Who's Cole? What is he like? Is he good enough for my little girl?" Jeremy started rapid fire questioning with in his deep, "I-sound-like-a-radio-announcer," voice. It's the same voice he used to use whenever Joshua asks a gazillion questions "why why why?" After a bit, Jeremy will use his deep voice and say "Well you see son, because of the earths gravitational pull..." It usually shuts up the "Why" questions pretty quickly.

Jeremy continued, "Will he come to the door in a suit and tie? Will he be chivalrous to you? Will he open doors? Will he hold out chairs? Will he keep his hands to himself?"
Ruthie giggled, thinking he was joking.  I kind of suspected he was beginning to set up future expectations under the guise of humor, for when it did matter.
"Daaaaaadddddddddyyyyyyyyyy," Ruthie drawled out, exasperated. "We're just meeting at the dance, and he's escorting me in."
"What do you mean by escorting? Do you even know what the word means? Maybe I should show up and talk to him."
Joshua, who was washing dishes, was thoroughly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe," he said, stirring up trouble, "Maybe you should chaperon, Dad."
"Maybe I should," said Jeremy.
"Why would you want to chaperon?" Ruthie said.
"So I can keep my eye on this Cole," Jeremy said, scrunching up his face and bulging out one eye, while raising his eye brow.  He continued to look at her, and began to scratch his chin, as in deep thought. "Hmmmm...Maybe I should make up some rules for this dance."
"Yeah," said Josh, chiming in."Strict And Un-followable Rules." He changed his voice to sound like the wicked witch of the west, "You both shall remain ten feet away from each other at all times when you dance..."
Ruthie stomped her foot on the floor, "Guuuuuyssss! Stooooop it." She mock whined, attempting not to giggle again. I peeked into the kitchen, there was a huge smile on her face.  She was loving the attention...for now.  I'm not so sure she'll like it when she's sixteen and the male members of the family actual mean these words.
"Yup," said Jeremy. "I think I'm gonna be a chaperon. Make sure this Cole is good enough for my little girl...Maybe, I'll wear a tuxedo..."
"Daddy, NO! You'll embarrass me!"
"Hmm, maybe I could wear a tuxedo and a silly hat..."
"Daddy, you wouldn't would you?"
"Maybe I'll wear a tuxedo, a silly hat, and DANCE in the middle of the floor...maybe a silly dance..."
"Daddy! You're just joking, right?"
"I don't know...am I?"
"Daddy, please don't."


Later he asked me, "Do you think I was wrong to tease her like that? Do you think I picked on her too much?'
"Nah," I said. "She'll be lucky if this Cole even says two words to her all night at the dance. Besides, It's your job. Might as well set the expectations up now. Good job keeping it light and fluffy when it doesn't really matter.  Because it will matter later on..."

In Which I Indulge My Daughters By Watching Ice Dancing

I enjoy the winter Olympics. I like watching the bob-sled, the luge, the skiing, and especially the snowboarding half-pipe. I even like curling, of all things.  But I have never ever ever been able to get excited or enthusiastic about ice skating, in any of it's forms.  Sure, I can appreciate the sport, the athleticism and coordination that is required to perform complex movements to music on a slippery, hard surface.  After all, I can barely make it around the loop without falling on my butt.  However, watching skaters on t.v. in crazy costumes 'dance' to music isn't exactly my idea of a good time.

 The girls, however, love, love, love it.  For the last few nights, they've used their big, pleading, brown eyes to weaken my defenses. "We can snuggle on the couch, under a big fluffy blanket and watch Ice Dancing. Doesn't that sound wonderful? Ohhh! Please please please please please?" Ruthie and Hannah said, stumbling over each others' words.

 "Oh, ok. But we have to record it, because you won't be able to be up that late, and then we can finish watching it tomorrow."  Foolish foolish words.  For the last three days I've been watching Ice Dancing.  Tomorrow I will still be watching Ice Dancing.  And after that, it will be figure skating. Oh joy. Will wonders never cease.

Ruthie is the self-appointed fashion critic for Ice Dancing costuming. She also feels a need to determine whether a competitor is attractive or not. "Her outfit is pretty, and she's actually attractive."
"BUT HER UNDERWEAR IS SHOWING!" Hannah exclaimed loudly as the guy flipped the girl around his shoulders.
"That's not her underwear, it's her leotard," I said.
"Doesn't matter if you see her leotard or not. It's just a leotard," Ruth stated, as if she knew all there was to know about leotards and ice dancing.

We continued watching pair after pair when my bloodthirsty youngest said, "Aren't they going to show any stumbles?"
"No Hannah, this is live. If they were going to show stumbles, it would mean it just happened right now," Ruth explained.

The next few minutes passed silently with the occasional "Wow, they're good," or "Whoa" passing through their lips, until the Ice Dancing commentator became really quiet.  I suppose Ruthie felt the need to fill the air with words, as if the Dancers' music wasn't enough noise.
"Are they American?"
"Have you ever thought a guy might be singing this?"
"And you know, you have to be flexible to do some of this."
"I was wondering why he was all casual, and she's all fancy."
"Now those two are NOT attractive."
"They make it look SO easy."
"Your hair must look pretty wild after skating."
Hannah continued to murmur her agreement along with each and every one of Ruth's remarks, until I happened to look up again at the television to see the female Ice Dancer pick up her partner. "Whoa!" I said, "SHE PICKED HIM UP!"
"Yup. She must be pretty strong," Hannah said.

The girls became rather silent after that, engrossed in the brother-sister pair representing Great Britain, until one of the French competitors had their turn.
"I don't remember THEM being in the competition."
"Yes, Hannah, they were in the Original Dance, remember?" Ruth said exasperated. A thought occurred to her. "I wonder if they feel ridiculous."
"I think the brother and sister feel ridiculous because they are brother and sister," Hannah said, referring to the previous couple.
"Yeah, I'd feel ridiculous if it were me and Josh."

I found my attention drifting away when the bright colored costumes of the Russian skaters caught my eye.  As flamboyant as their costumes, the choice of music was heavy, boisterous, and loud.  I couldn't wait for their segment to end.

"The Russians think this is good music?" Ruth asked, incredulous. "Their outfits are CRAZY!"
"Especially that one," Hannah pointed to the female's bright red costume.
"The girl's outfit is weird. I suppose it's supposed to be fire," Ruth said.
"But what about the guy's?"
"I dunno. I guess it's smoke."
"OH! I get it!" Hannah said.
"Mama, is it supposed to be smoke?" Ruth asked me.
Hannah saved me from answering, "Yeah, I think he is supposed to be smoke."
I just shrugged and looked clueless. How much longer before bed time?
"The Russians have weird music." Ruthie said
"Is this supposed to be happy music?" Hannah asked. I just looked at her. This was in no way 'happy music' they were skating to.
"Well, at least they're very sparkly." Ruthie tried to find the positive.

Unfortunately, for me, we didn't get to finish watching Ice Dancing before they had to get to bed.  And since they hit the record button so that they could catch the woman's figure skating "Short Program" which airs tonight, I know there's much more ice skating in my near future.  So, my question is, do I get a medal for watching this stuff under duress?

Cabin Fever struck the Mel House

The snow has been blowing since last last night, adding to Saturday's accumulation of about a foot.  We cannot even see out our window. Sometime after lunch, the power went out, leaving us feeling mighty stranded.  This is the first home I've ever lived in, where there wasn't at least one gas-powered heat source, be it the stove, the hot water heater, or the furnace, or all three.

"We need a generator," I told Jeremy.
"Yup."
"What are we gonna do?"
"Huddle under a blanket. Pretend we're pioneers?" He said.
"How about we try and find all the lanterns, candles, and batteries in the meantime while there's some daylight?" Usually our outages last a long time when the weather is decent. Like the summer when we went without power for several days because of a transformer on the lines that went bad.  It was possible we could be with out power well into Friday.  I was not feeling too optimistic.
"We could probably make an oil lamp."
"Maybe"
The lights flickered hopefully a few times and then died again.
"If we get desperate, we're gonna try it."
"Ok."

About an hour later, power returned, and we quickly decided to get as much done as possible. We looked up how to make a home-made oil lamp (yay Google) gathered those supplies in the event we lose power again.  And we decided to wash the dishes from lunch that sat in the sink, since we had hot water again.  Rather, we informed the kids they needed to wash the dishes before we made dinner.

It was only a matter of moments before we heard the familiar arguments, feet stompings, and catty noises emanating from Ruth and Hannah.  Hannah, in typical fashion, was refusing to help. Ruth in her frustration decided to solve the problem in her own way.

She duct taped Hannah's mouth.

It might be important to mention at this point, Jeremy rarely raises his voice. I have seen him control the kids with a single look.  I believe it is the implied "I-brought-you-into-this-world-I-can-take-you-out" glint in his eyes that keeps them in check.  I can count on one hand the few times he's lost his temper, and yelled, usually at Joshua, and usually deserved.

The screeching sounds resulting from said duct taping brought the WRATH OF DAD pounding down the stairs like a thundercloud in all its mighty splendor, interrupting the beginnings of a true cat-fight.  It is perhaps the first, and hopefully the last, time the girls have ever incurred the WRATH OF DAD.  Ruth tried to tattle and get Jeremy in trouble with me. Big mistake.  All she succeded in gaining was another lecture, this time from me.

"You duct taped your sister's mouth. You never duct tape your sister's mouth. Anyone's mouth. Be glad it was him and not me. I have half a mind to tie you two together like a three-legged race until you get along with one another."

All I can say is, I'm glad he was home to be judge and jury for a change.  Here's hoping we survive the next 24 hours in close confinement with one another.

Who needs Satellite TV when you have a ..

For years we didn't even have any kind of television. Oh sure, we owned a set, and a VCR, which gave way to a DVD player, so we could watch movies, but we just couldn't afford TV. Plus, we couldn't get any kind of reception on an antennae where we live.  So we did without.  About three years ago I begged and pleaded with Jeremy to let me have TV.

"I neeeeeeeeeeed real television," I said.
"I'm tired of watching the same movies," I said.
"I work better with the TV on," I said.
"Besides we can watch the Food Network," I said.

It was probably the last thing that got his attention.  We watch A LOT of Food Network programs.

I contend I'm a happier, more productive, not to mention, more sane person with real television.  But apparently, my family is more easily entertained than I am.  Apparently, there was never a need to upgrade from DVD's to actual commercial laden programming.

We are now the proud parents of a, gasp, teenager, as of yesterday evening, 6:55pm to be exact.  Having his birthday in the middle of the week, we decided to throw him a party on Saturday. When he was smaller, Joshua never quite understood why he couldn't have the world over to our house midweek to celebrate the momentous occasion of his birth. He felt he had to "fight for the right to paaaaaaaaarty" any time December 9th hit the weekly schedule. Monday? No problem. Thursday, No problem.  Saturday, no problem.  Explaining the logistics has been a complicated and lengthy ordeal in years past, so we've learned to have a very small cake and a very small $15 or under gift for him on THE DAY and reserve the main gift for the family party.  Now that he's thirteen, I'm pretty certain he 'gets' the why we push off his party until the closest weekend. I'm also pretty certain that he now 'milks' the tradition of two cakes, two presents for all it's worth.  Frankly, I don't mind eating all that birthday cake. It's always been a small sacrifice for household peace.

So, Tuesday evening, Jeremy called me from Wal-mart looking for a 'small' gift.  "How 'bout a lava lamp?" He asked me.
"I think he'd like that."
I was wrong. He LOVED it.   I got the minute by minute "Lava Lamp Report" last night.  After an hour, I wanted to scream.
"It's still not warmed up yet."
"Oh wait, I think i see something. Nope. I was wrong."
"Maybe it's upside down. Do you think the wax is upside down?"
"What's this coil there? I bet that heats up and then melts the wax."
"It's still not bubbling yet. When will it do that?'
"Oh, I see a lump? See that lump? It's starting to melt"

Since it was the first lava lamp usage, it took almost two hours to really warm up. Joshua had plugged the lamp on the floor in the living room, and was attempting to do his homework. But the distraction proved too great, so Jeremy and I sent him up to his room.  That only made matters worse, because his sisters felt obliged to give the "Lava Lamp Report" at the top of their lungs, from the bottom of the steps.

"Josh! JOSH! IT'S MAKING A MOUND!"
"JOSH! JOSH! THE MOUND LOOKS LIKE A FINGER! ACTUALLY, IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S GIVING THE FINGER!"
"JOSH! JOSH! OOOH OOH! THE FIRST BUBBLE PULLED AWAY FROM THE FINGER!"

Running up and down the stairs with each new "Lava Lamp Report," Joshua came to check out the news himself.  It took him approximately two hours to do ten math problems, thanks to the Lava Lamp.  Eventually, the lamp got on a roll, and Jeremy joined in the "Lava Lamp Report." Laying on his belly in front of the lava lamp, he called to Joshua, "JOSH! COM'MERE!"  The girls shrieked "OOH! Is it working?! Is it working?!" And they proceeded to lay on their bellies with him.  Flopping down on his belly, Joshua joined the trio.




I've spent way too much money in the last three years on television.

She's such a strange child..

Sitting at the table, a lunch of fried chicken sitting in front of her, she paused mid-bite, picked up a post-it note from the table and put it dead center on her chest, and continued to eat.  Jeremy and Joshua had been playing 3D tic-tac-toe on the post-it pad, and the crosses on the yellow sheet looked even more out of place amongst the 101 Dalmatians cavorting all over the turtle neck she wore.  Singing to herself while she ate, Hannah was a picture of pure contentment, her imaginary world more than enough to keep her happy.

Meanwhile, Ruthie, opening the cabinet doors, made a disappointing discovery. "OH NOOOO!" She wailed. 'The syrup spilled EVERYWHERE!"  During the clean-up, Jeremy and Ruth discovered some left over Hershey's miniatures that had escaped the bag a few days ago.  He noticed Hannah had finished lunch, and said, "Hey Hannah, wanna Krackle?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah," Hannah said

Jeremy unwrapped the candy bar so Hannah couldn't read the wrapper.  She took a bite and started to MMMmm, when suddenly her expression turned into one of disgust.  Her father started howling with laughter.
"This isn't a Krackle!" she said, indignant. "This is that peanut one...Mr..."
"Bad Bar!" Jeremy finished. No one in this house likes the Mr. Goodbars, except for me.  Hannah started making gagging noises and rushed for the trashcan.
"I guess that makes us even for 1-2-3 Nipples!"
"What's 1-2-3 Nipples?" I was afraid to ask, but curiosity overcame trepidation.
"The other week, Hannah kept trying to grab at my nipples. And I told her to knock it off. So she said," Jeremy switched his voice to a higher pitch in imitation, " 'Can I count your chest hairs then?' So I told her Ok."  (I should probably mention, that my husband is about as hairless as a guy can get.  You really can count his chest hairs with ease). Jeremy continued as my eyes grew wider, "So, she started to count...1-2-3 and then grabbed and yelled "NIPPLES!" " He shuddered, as we all started laughing really hard.

Our laughter quickly became out of proportion to the story.  Josh, Ruth, Hannah, Jeremy and I were wiping tears out of our eyes, and gasping for breath when Hannah piped up at the end, "Well," she paused for dramatic impact. "We all just had a great chuckle there. Didn't we?"

That set off another peal of laughter from all of us, except Hannah who stood there bewildered for once, because normally she's very deliberate with her humor.

"Chuckle?" Joshua said shaking his head as he walked into the other room talking to himself "Who says chuckle?"

In which Hannah gets a biology lesson and I learn new words

"What does neuter mean?" Hannah asked at dinner tonight.
"It means the vet would cut off Oswald's man parts," Jeremy said.
"Well, not aaaaalll of the man parts," I interjected.  "He'd keep his wiener so he could pee." Ironically, Ruthie stabbed her hot dog. "Yeah, they'd just cut off his dangly bits."
"What are dangly bits?" Hannah asked.
Ruth leaned across the table, as if this would make Hannah understand better, "You know his DANGLY BITS"
"What are dangly bits?"
"You know, when you pick up Oswald and hold his back legs so he won't kick you and his man-parts dangle from beneath his fur? His dangly bits" Ruth said again.
Jeremy choked on his food. Joshua turned about eight shades of red trying to hold in laughter.  And I sat there mid-chew, probably gawking, wondering where on earth Ruthie learned this charming terminology.

"Ruth is in the howww-owwwsse!"

"Ruth is in the house! I am in the house! YEAH! I am in the house!" She sang at the top of her lungs and danced around to the music.
"Um Ruthie, I think it's Groove is in the Heart," I said.
"Oh," Ruth said. She stopped dancing and looked thoughtful for a minute. "I was wondering why they were singing about me."

Slang 101

"So, all I had to eat today was a handful of cereal, a granola bar, and a small package of tastycakes." I finished lamenting my crazy busy day to Jeremy over cheese steaks. We were all sitting at the table taking turns relating our day.  He responded by singing the jingle, "Nobody bakes a cake as tasty as a tasty cake."  After repeating it a few annoying more times, he started messing around with it in his usual manner, "Nobody bocks a cock as tosty as a tosty cock. Oh wait. That's not very good. I shouldn't have sung that!"  At that moment, he started laughing so hard, he turned red, as boys are wont to do when making up naughty songs.  The color crept up from his neck, as the humor turned into embarrassment as three pairs of eyes looked at him with great interest.

"A tosty cock?" Ruth said.
"Don't say that again," Jeremy said when he caught his breath.
Joshua gurgled.
"Why can't we say tosty cock?"
"Uh, because it isn't a good thing to say."
Joshua giggled.
"I can't say tosty cock?" Ruthie asked
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock" Hannah said.
Eyes big and bright, Joshua covered his mouth with his hand. He snickered.
"Because." Jeremy said
"Oh, you might as well tell her," I said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah said.
Joshua nearly fell out of his chair, holding his stomach, laughing silently.
"Hannah that's enough," Jeremy said.
"Why? Why can't we say tosty cock?" Ruth persisted.
"I'll tell her later." Jeremy turned back to me, effectively ignoring Ruthie. I knew it was a stalling tactic, and that he had no intention of telling them later.
"Tell them now. Otherwise I'm gonna be somewhere with the kids, and one of our girls are gonna say it at the wrong moment." I said.
Jeremy shook his head no.
Joshua snorted and slid off his chair. "Tosty cock. Oh man!" He said from under the table.
"I want to know why I can't say Tosty cock." Ruthie said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah whispered.
"Fine. I'll tell them."

 I looked at Ruth. She looked eagerly back at me as if I was about to impart the mystery of the world. I looked sternly at Hannah. A silent warning to not let this conversation get past the table.  Hannah's eyes glittered with ornery intent. She knew, just knew this was going to be good. "Well, you see, cock is another word for either a Rooster, or the part of a guy that makes them guys."
Joshua, who managed to get back into his seat, snickered. The girls sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing this new information.
"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" Ruthie said.
"Cock-a-doodle dooooooo!!" Hannah said.

Joshua lost his seat again.
I almost had to administer CPR to Jeremy.

Is that a euphemism for...?

We were wandering through the garden section of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store looking for humus/manure mix, mulch, and garden soil. Wearing bored, resigned expressions, Jeremy and Joshua were taking turns dutifully pushing the flat bed cart. Ruth and Hannah tagged behind whining and complaining. I lead the merry parade up and down the aisles of dirt, mulch and plants effectively tuning out my family, concentrating instead on what I needed.

After a bit, my ears focused the catty noises my daughters were making at one another and their words became more discernible.
"You are a blooming flower," Hannah chanted in a sing song voice, hands demonstrating the way a flower blooms.
"Stooooooop it!" Ruth demanded.
"You" she paused pointedly, "Are a blooming flower." Hannah repeated the motion.  I figured she was talking about all the pots and planters full of marigolds, petunias, and inpatients that were surrounding us to either side.  I also figured it was the repetitious phrase and the sing-songy voice that was making Ruthie crazy. Hannah has "twerp" down to a "T."
"Knock. It. OFF!" Ruth said with clenched teeth.
"Yooooou are a bloooooooooooooooming flower," Hannah tilted her head to one side, swung it to the other with a great flourish, gesturing with her hands again.
"I mean it Hannah. I swear, when you're going through puberty, I'm gonna call you a blooming flower and see how YOU like it." Ruthie pouted.

Jeremy goggled. Joshua giggled. And I stood there staring at Hannah, pondering where on earth she got this one. Realizing she achieved her goal: tormenting her sister while effectively grabbing our attention and half of the customers milling about, Hannah repeated her mantra for added effect. "You are a bloooooooooooooooooming flower." She did her stinker grin, giggled, especially when Jeremy unconvincingly said, "Knock it off." Joshua snorted.

"Weeeeellll," Ruth said pointedly to Joshua, "How would YOU like to be called a blooming flower."
He blushed, looked at the ground, kicked at an imaginary pebble and shook his head. "I don't think she'd call me that. I'm a guy. I don't really...have...a...um...blooming...uh, flower." My head was reeling. I really didn't want to have any part of 'the talk' in the middle of the mega-monster-warehouse-hardware store garden center. Oh great, now do I have to explain what Joshua meant by that to my girls?  Where do these kids get this stuff?

I quickly paid while the young, teen-aged, male clerk studiously pretended he didn't hear those last two remarks. Jeremy suddenly found peat moss very interesting. And a few customers behind me in line seemed to have a problem with all of the flower pollen, having coughing fits at the same time. Hannah, delighted with her results, beamed.
"OOHhh!!!" Ruth, now leading our crew, stomped off towards the car, Hannah tailing directly behind.
"You are a bloooooooming flower...."

Apparently Rabbits don't like Math...even though they Multiply...

     After spending his first year of life cooped up in a cage in a barn, Oswald thinks he's living the high-life.  I let the rabbit run around the yard once in awhile, since we have a small fenced in space. Under close supervision, he also enjoys a few hours exploring the house too. He's mastered hopping up two steps, sniffed every square inch of the living room and kitchen, and figured out how to jump on and off and on and off and on and off the couch, again and again, and uh, again. (Apparently this is great bunny entertainment). So far, we've had very little problems with allowing the rabbit some freedom. Our electrical cords are still in tact. He hasn't chewed anything to bits. And, normally, he contains his waste to his cage or the litter box. However, yesterday, Ozzy was a naughty bunny.

Ruthie was sitting under the tiny tree in our backyard doing her math homework.  The last thing she expected was a big fuzz ball to come and flop down on her math book. He sprawled over both pages, and sniffed at Ruthie. Giggling, she said, "Oswald, NO! I'm trying to see my math problems!"  Just as quick, her laughter turned into a cry of distress. Turning from weeding my flower bed, I asked, "What happened?"

"Oswald peed on my math book. He PEED on it. Oswald! Why did you pee on my math book?"

Oswald, looking mighty pleased with himself, and unwilling to move his lump of fluff off of her book, declined giving a reason.  Maybe he knew Ruthie hates math. Maybe he was trying to do her a favor. Most likely though, it was because math books are made of paper and Oswald has a serious paper fetish. Peeing on the math book was the most logical way to claim it as his.

After Ruth shooed the rabbit away, he kept trying to hop back and nibble on the pages. The more she pushed him away, the more he insisted on having the text book for his own. As if in a fevered state, he started digging at the pages, hopping sideways, running in circles around the book, and then repeating the whole procedure in between Ruth shoving him away so she could clean off the pages. "Oswald, No! OSWALD! ARGH!" She moaned.

I began fussing at her for keeping the book on the ground. "Put it up on the patio table where he can't get to it." I said through clenched teeth. I was covered in mud, and virtually useless in the Oswald v. Ruth v. Math Book kung fu competition, though I did make a few decent blocks with my foot. I didn't think mud would be a welcome addition to the rabbit pee. I didn't want to have to groom it out of the bunny's long fur, so I couldn't pick him up at that moment. And I wasn't sure if I dared to make a break to the kitchen to wash up. Ozzy would surely take advantage of my momentary absence. "Go get a paper towel." I commanded. Ruth ran inside, grabbed the roll and began sopping up the urine.

"He also peed all over my homework paper."

"You'll have to re-copy it onto a new piece of paper."

"Oh Oswald. You caused me soooo much trouble." She spoke to the rabbit, who, no longer having a book to eat, decided to run a few more laps around the yard.

Ruth informed me that the principal will be sending me a bill. And, since I'm pretty sure Oswald won't be willing or able to cough up the $80, unsurprisingly, I will be purchasing a new math text book for the elementary school.

Sometimes ya just gotta laugh, even when you shouldn't

Oh she's good. She's very very good.  And if she's this good at the age of almost seven, I'm a little worried about how well she'll out maneuver her father and I when she's almost seventeen.

Hannah was making an unusual amount of racket in the back of the van last night: howling, hooting, growling, and roaring. Most of the time, I have no idea why she does the things she does. Last night, however, I suspected the noise was the fault of an over active imagination. Ruth and Josh added to the cacophony with five minutes of whining comments and unspoken promises of death, "Hannah, knock. it. off. Maaaaaaaamaaaaaaaa! Hannah's making noise!"
"Mom, can you tell her to SHUT UP!"
Of course, that enticed "the twerp within" to make Hannah roar louder, with more enthusiasm.

Jeremy had had enough. "Knock it OFF, Hannah Noel. You're not an animal, you know," he added.

"And I'm not really a dinosaur either," Hannah replied with calculated humor, and a very serious, straight, face.

I tried. I really did. I tried so hard to not laugh, to not even crack the tiniest of smiles.

I failed.

Miserably.