Thursday, February 4, 2016

Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel

"Did you bring her up here?"

Middle gasped in faux shock. "I would NEVER!"



Sunday, January 24, 2016

Things that Make You Go "Awww..."

Seeing as Hubby was worn out from today's sledding (pics to come later), and then coming home and snowblowing the plowing-under the end of the driveway and sidewalks got, courtesy of the borough, I agreed to tuck the kids into bed tonight. Sitting and resting most of the evening between final dinner prep and bedtime had helped ease the ache in my ankle.

Since there's no school tomorrow, the kids all elected to sleep in the twins' room. I got up there and found this:

Oh, hello, Kimo.
"Look, Mommy, she's all tucked in," Middle said.

Now, Middle loooooooooooooooooves Kimo, and recently suffered a traumatic nightmare in which Hubby and I kicked Kimo out of the house and refused to allow Middle to bring her back inside, something which nearly proved fatal to poor Kimo, despite Middle's desperate attempts to orchestrate an impressive rescue. Normally, Kimo does not sleep in the twins' room, because we are trying to keep kitties from getting stuck in there at night and doing untoward things. But knowing about the nightmare, knowing that Middle has been very scared she's going to lose Kimo the way we've lost Popoki, Keiki, and Pa'ani, I didn't object. 

I just took a picture...and tucked the blanket around Kimo a bit more.

I sang the "Goodnight Junior" song I always sing, even kissing Kimo for good measure, and gently warned that best behavior would be required for Kimo to be allowed to stay, and left the door open a crack in case Kimo needed to get out.

I hobbled back downstairs and started looking through the pictures I'd shot today during sledding fun.

Hubby poked his head into the living room. "Is Kimo in with her?"

No need to specify which her; we know who Kimo has claimed as her own.

I smiled. "Yeah."

Here it's worth noting that I didn't question how Kimo came to be in the bedroom. Kimo has pulled fast ones before, and snuck into rooms, cuddling up with stuffed animals and you almost don't know she's there. I just sort of figured that Kimo had followed Middle upstairs.

"I thought so," Hubby said, about to shoot holes in my theory. "I saw Middle carry her up there."

That little stinker.

No, I'm not sure which one I'm talking about.

However, I went up to check on Special Edition when I heard something fall while she was in the shower (she was very tired after all the snow fun this afternoon), and checked on the kids for good measure.

Kimo was still there, curled up next to Middle.

That's a devoted kitty.

Post-Jonas Stats

Attention, faithful blog readers! We are alive and well.

Buried under 3 feet of snow, but alive and well.

Ironically, we didn't lose power during the storm at all. Today, however, now that it's not snowing like gangbusters anymore, it flickered on and off for a couple of minutes late morning.

What have we been doing? Mostly, we've been holed up in the house.

Except Hubby. Hubby has been marathoning with the snowblower.

Saturday afternoon. Hi, honey!
Snow had reached mid-thigh on Hubby and waist-high on the kids by midafternoon, when Hubby decided he should try to stay ahead of the game. He was out working for an hour with the snowblower, and came back to his starting point—having only cleared the sidewalks and a path down the driveway—to discover that at least two inches had fallen while he'd been working. He gave up and came inside to thaw out.

Not sure where my front steps went.

The kids gamboled out to "help," but really just ran around screaming about the amount of White Death falling from the skies. Well, Oldest did help with the shovel. A little. There was just too much snow for her to be able to assist much.

Why, yes, the snow is more than half Middle's height.
The tall hedges at the front corner of the house began to look like Mordor.

Church today was canceled, like just about darn near everywhere else in south-central Pennsylvania. We considered ourselves fortunate to have a snow blower, although Hubby confessed that this year, he really wished I'd said yes to the flamethrower four years ago.

Special Edition has never seen snow like this. On Friday night, when we had about three inches of snow and still had grass sticking up through the tops, she said it was more than she'd ever seen. Saturday afternoon, she tracked me down to ask an important question: "Did you know the car has disappeared?"

Car 54, where are you?

Yes, we know the car is buried.

Last night, she went out with Hubby around 6, to take a look. Next thing I know, she's knocking on the door, asking if I'll come out and play. Dinner wasn't ready yet, and the kids were watching TV... Sure, why not?

We made snow angels in the street.

She jumped in the snowbanks created when Hubby made his rounds with the snowblower, causing more snow to cascade into the cleared sidewalk.

And she giggled a lot.


"Your father is going to get mad that you've made a mess," I said with a chuckle.

"I don't care. It's my first snow! He can deal."

Knowing how much Hubby loves the sound of her laugh, I didn't think he'd mind cleaning up. Not too awful much, anyway.

I found Narnia...
I went out to look at the car this morning.

When did we get a minivan?

Friday, December 4, 2015

I've lost count.

I can't say I was especially looking forward to Thanksgiving this year, since it was going to be the first without Dad. However, based on how things ended up, Hubby and I opted to keep with our original plans and go to visit his family for the holiday.

With my folks so close, and Hubby's previous job obligations requiring us to stay home over Christmas, we have always alternated years regarding where we spend Thanksgiving. We were at his family's last year, as well, so that we could be back on a schedule of being with my family when more relatives attend the annual Thanksgiving brouhaha.

Now, since we live in rural PA, Thanksgiving is kind of a big deal. Well, not so much Thanksgiving itself, but deer season. So, our Thanksgiving break runs nearly a full week.

The kids were all excited about going to see Gramma Bevvie and the assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Middle informed me on Monday morning last week that Oldest had imperiously informed them that they had a two-hour delay for school on Wednesday, which she knows because she's Oldest, of course.

"No," I corrected. "You do not have a two-hour delay on Wednesday."

"But Oldest said we do."

"Oldest is wrong. It's silly to have a two-hour delay the day before Thanksgiving."

And I thought the matter was settled.

Silly me.

That afternoon, an email pinged in from the school district, and I immediately understood the confusion. This Wednesday, the schools dismiss two hours early because of the holiday break. Then, school is closed through Tuesday of the next week (deer season, people), and on next Wednesday, there is indeed a two-hour delay because of Act 80 teacher inservice training.

That night:

"We have a two-hour delay on Wednesday."

"No. You have a two-hour early dismissal on Wednesday."

"Oh. Right."

Tuesday morning:

"We have a two-hour delay tomorrow."

"No. You have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow."

"Oh. Right."

Tuesday night:

"We have a two-hour delay tomorrow!"

"No! You have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow!"

"Oh. Right."

Tuesday, bedtime;

"Do we need to set our alarms? We have a two-hour delay tomorrow."

It was a migraine salute moment. I performed said maneuver, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. "NO. You have a two. Hour. Early. Dismissal. Tomorrow."

"Oh. Right."

Wednesday morning:

"Don't we have a two-hour delay this morning?"

It's a wonder I didn't screech in reply.

Lather, rinse, foam at the mouth, repeat.

Thanksgiving went well enough. We had a good time with my in-laws; the turkey was delicious, and lots of food was consumed. Middle and Youngest turned nine and were showered with presents. We made it a true family vacation after my mother-in-law took us out for Chinese on Saturday night, and Special Edition had an allergic reaction to (apparently) some crab legs she ate. There's a history of shellfish allergies in her family, so that's likely what she reacted to, but all the same, she had a bad reaction to something, which necessitated an ER visit that night, and another on our way home on Monday. Good times. (She's still itchy, poor thing.)

Tuesday morning rolled around, and...

"We have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow."

Give me strength.

"No. You have a two-hour delay tomorrow."

"Oh. Right."

Did it end there? Oh, heck, no. Hubby had to take Special Edition back to the ER Tuesday night because her hives had returned and nothing was easing them, so I tucked the kids into bed. That's when I noticed that Oldest's alarm was set.

"Why is your alarm set?"


"Your alarm. Why is it set? You have a two-hour delay tomorrow." I don't know about you, but I have no desire to be awakened by my pop-tart child at 6:45 a.m. when I don't have to be. When I know there's a two-hour delay, nobody sets their alarms.

"Oh! Right!" She jumped up to turn it off.

Next up, twins. Same thing. They had their alarm on too. I turned it off and our conversation repeated verbatim.


I know we had the same conversations more times than I've detailed here. I couldn't tell you how many times, though. I honestly lost count.

Friday, September 11, 2015

"I was gonna punch him in the sack!"

Middle was telling Hubby the other day about a boy in her class who was making her upset. He continued with his antisocial-in-Middle's-view behavior, and, Middle opined, "He made me so mad I wanted to punch him in the sack!"

Hubby apparently paused for a moment, recalling the episode of the "s-word". Perhaps this was another such event...

"Do you even know what a 'sack' is?"

"Yes! Boy parts!"

I think Hubby had to swallow his shock. "Okay." Hubby pointed at Middle. "The only time you're ever allowed to punch a boy in the sack is if he's touching you and making you uncomfortable by touching you, and he will not stop. Do you understand?"

"Okay, Daddy."

If any of our girls were ever to punch a guy like that, I'm pretty sure it would be Middle.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

"Are you gonna share that?"


It never fails. If I am busy or otherwise occupied, my name gets bellowed.


"I'm down here!"

Middle pounds down the steps to the basement level of our house, but stays out of my sight. "You want to see something funny?"


"Okay, get ready to really laugh! This is really funny!"

I chuckled quietly. "I'm ready."

Middle popped around the corner and into view. "Look! I'm a mommy, too!"

"Just like you!"
Well, she was right...

I laughed.

She grinned at me.

"What are those?"

"They're potato heads!"

That was when I really laughed and had her go get my phone.

"Are you going to put that picture on Facebook?" she wanted to know after she posed so nicely for me.

"Maybe, honey."


It'll be a lot of fun to just post it on Facebook without much explanation, I think.

Hee hee.


Today was the first day of school.

Special Edition had a nerve-wracking day, but came home having made a couple of friends. (I'm so proud of her that I could plotz. Today was a scary day.) She only needs to attend for the first quarter to complete the amount of credits required for graduation.

Oldest, who was all worried about having Mr. K as her teacher, came home and proclaimed her first day of 5th grade as "Awesome!"

Middle also had a fabulous day. She had Mr. S, who Oldest also had for 3rd grade (and was frightened of because he didn't smile much on the first day). She reported that Mr. S smiled A LOT, and she's already told him he's her favorite third-grade teacher ever.

Youngest was worried about having Miss H, because of what some kids said about her last year, but she also had an awesome day. Apparently Miss H was not as advertised. (Come to find out, Mitzy's mom graduated from the local university with Miss H. Time for a rousing chorus of "It's a Small World After All.")

All in all, a good day, it seems.

Let's hope tomorrow goes as well.