Aaaand we’re off!

Here is a picture of me just now. I am carrying everything we will be taking with us on this 17 day adventure. That’s right, you should be amazed.

DSC02077

I learned my lesson the hard way when I went on a mission trip to Asia a few years ago and thought that it would be a good idea to just pack everything inside a duffel bag that was big enough for me to fit into. Literally. I have a picture somewhere with just my face peeking out of the zipper hole. By the time I finished filling it and my friends finished taking advantage of my ignorant generosity, my bag tipped the scales at over 70 pounds. Guess who had to carry it all through the airport? And by “carry” I mean physically support completely.

Anyway, we leave tomorrow morning at 6am, so who knows what kind of quantity and quality this blog will be seeing for the next few weeks. I do promise tons of amazing pictures when I get back…because, AJ and Violet will be in them, and they’re amazing.

Au revoir!

Standard

of summer and blackberry pie

Today we went blackberry picking. Violet stuffed her little round face till she had the blackberry runs so bad she pooped in the tub tonight…of course, sometimes she does that anyways.  As we were walking back from the park and I was carrying a bowl of blackberries I remembered one summer when I was 14.

After much begging, I had agreed to bake a blackberry pie for the neighborhood boys, which were comprised mainly of my brothers and their friends. They spent the better part of an afternoon picking berries and generally getting  covered in scratches before they had finally picked enough berries for me to make a pie big enough for all of them. It would soon all be worth it though and they congratulated each other while relaxing in the front yard while I carried out my half of the bargain. I had promised them a syrupy, hot, berry pie complete with a golden, flaky crust and wonderful bits of berry oozing out the sides.

That is not what I delivered.

Alas, I grabbed the baking soda instead of the cornstarch. (they were in the same type of container. Instead of turning to blackberry syrup, it immediately became a foul-smelling gruel with a grayish cast.

The End.

that’s right, thats really the end. They were very very very mad at me for quite a long time. Partly also because they had completely picked all the blackberries on the block for the pie, so even if I had wanted to i couldn’t have made it right.

Standard

retrospect

When my second brother ( I have 5) was about 2 or 3, he would repeatedly vocalize any action he was doing. You’d tell him to go hide for hide and go seek, and he’d put a couch cushion over his face and say “Hide, hide, hide, hide.” Not all the time, just often enough to make it a memory.

One day my dad took the first two boys with him to an estate sale to get some tools. He found a box of stuff, but didn’t want to carry it around while he looked, so he told Coloray and Trustin to guard the box for him so that no one else would take it. As soon as he left, Trustin hovered protectively over the tools and started saying “Guard, guard, guard…” so that everyone would know he was guarding the tools. Apparently Coloray got embarrassed and told him to stop. At which point, a man walked up and took the box of tools.

memories are important to write down; someday you will most likely forget them.

Once, Coloray and I had a conversation in which we both agreed that everyone goes through an ugly phase. For most people it is shortly after their adult teeth come in and they’re all gangly, big-toothed, and not old enough to be selfconcious enough to make sure they look ok. We were probably 13 and 11 when we had this conversation and we concluded that we were so relieved to have our “ugly years” behind us, but when I look back at our pictures from this age, we look every bit as awkward as we did in our “ugly phase.”

When my sister Angel was a little girl, she was convinced it was her destiny to be ballerina. I told her that every little girl feels this way, and that she’d grow out of it when she was as “mature” as me. She was very mad at me and pointed her tiny toes insistently as if their cuteness was proof of her destiny. She eventually grew out of it, which is good, because she’s way too short to be a ballerina.

Anyway, this post goes out to Trustin who will be 22 in a few short days. One more Trustin story.

When we lived in eastern washington, we had no running water or electricity. Plus, we lived “off the land” between farm animals and a huge garden. Needless to say, Jello was no everyday occurrence. Once for a special treat my parents got some jello from the store (or maybe someone gave it to us, I don’t remember which). Since we had no electricity and therefore no fridge, we decided to chill the Jello in a plastic milk carton. It was lime, I only remember because I was kind of cheated out of it, but I’m jumping ahead of myself. My mom and I poured the jello mix and water into the plastic jug. When it was done setting by chilling in the spring, we would cut the top half off the carton to serve it. I headed down the hill and tied the jug by the handle to a stick so it wouldn’t float away.

Four hours later, in eager anticipation Coloray and I headed down to the spring to get dessert. Too bad Trustin had been there first and had eaten it ALL when it was still soft enough to shake out the top opening. We didn’t think it was funny.

Standard

so.

Quote of the Day:

“If every time I fussed someone stuffed cheese in my mouth, I’d be cranky too!”

Violet loves cheese. she loves it so much that she’ll already be begging for more when she still has her mouth full.

I saw a picture of a rooster today. It reminded me of Dan Quail. Not Dan Quayle, although his amazing hair may or may not have inspired my parents to name our rooster after him.

This isn’t actually a picture of Dan Quail, but it is a picture of Dan Quayle. You see the resemblance? Actually, Quail looked much more like Quayle in real life. You’ll be happy to know, he was an undefeated rooster; he had a giant harem, and he lived to be 95 in chicken years.

Standard

Finally!

They finally fixed the sign! (if you clicked on that link, you’d know what I was talking about.) I know it’s not a big deal, but finding typos makes my day.

I just realized that the fourth of july is on saturday. Yes, I have a calendar.

This will probably date me, but the first time I remember noticing what year it was, was 1991.

“Mom, what year is it?”

“Go look at the calendar!”

I remember thinking to myself, “Oh yeah…the calendar!”

Incidentally, 1991 was the same year I played hide-and-seek with my cat and forgot about her in the dryer for three days, the year I learned how to squash tomato horn worms between two rocks, and the year my brother and I chased the mute moscovy ducks till they quacked.

Standard

more great things about childhood that adults sometimes miss

  1. falling asleep on the way home and having someone carry you up to bed
  2. shooting someone with your finger and having them actually “die”
  3. jello jigglers
  4. staying up past bedtime
  5. surprises
  6. party hats
  7. riding on someones shoulders
  8. blowing dandelion heads
  9. lemonade stands
  10. digging to china
  11. making tunnels in dirt for cars to drive though
  12. “shooting” things and making the sound effects
  13. sword fights with sticks
  14. birthdays
  15. playing with your food
  16. trying to walk in a certain pattern across tiled floors in grocery stores
  17. having a dollar to spend any way you want
  18. sledding
  19. getting to ride in the front of a grocery cart
  20. getting up really early on Christmas morning after staying up as late you can the night before.
Standard

Childhood Revisited

One of the best parts about being a parent is that you get to do all the things that adults are too old for but are still great fun.

Case in point: bubbles. Need I say more? This afternoon I got a bubble wand at Target and when AJ and I got home we took Violet out to the park to introduce her to the wonders of bubbles. I am not at all embarrassed to admit that we probably had more fun than she did because we go to do all the bubble-making. We took turns waving the bubble wand to make bubbles while the other one held Violet and ran after to bubbles to try and pop them.

When I was young enough to earn my Grandma’s nickname of “Peawee”, I remember playing in the park with my parents when they had just gotten a bubble maker. I’m not sure what it was called, but it involved using nylon cord to form the bubble shapes and the bubbles were the sizes of small cars. When you’re two or three years old, and you’re chasing after a bubble five times your size–its amazing. As you can tell, this obviously had a strong impression on me.

Other great things about childhood that adults don’t do but still like:

pushup popsicles

playing in puddles

make-believe games

couch-cushion forts in the living room.

reading in bed with a flashlight.

sleepovers.

running around naked.

mud pies

splashing in the bath

building forts in the woods.

playing hide and seek

summer break

Standard