Don't you remember we moved here specifically because it rains?
We got a sympathetic phone call last night from across the country from folks who'd seen on the news that the NW is practically drowning. Yep, lots of rain, just the way we like it. Nope, we wouldn't trade it in for sunny skies and warm weather (ask us again in June, though).
On the down side, as I've said a hundred times and I'll say again, the rain in the NW tries to bore one to death instead of actually tossing lightning, tornadoes, hurricanes or even a solid downpour our way. I am surprised that northwesterners haven't come up with 57 words describing the 57 varieties of light rain we get. Ed and I have one: misting. Nothing really falls from the sky when it is misting, but it isn't exactly not falling either, and it'll get you plenty wet when you're out in it.
Anyway, yesterday we had the remnants of some Pacific typhoon. We got some good solid Rain. I wouldn't even have categorized it as pouring most of the time, but it was well worth going out and playing in.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
There is some very cool art in November's issue of Ladybug Magazine. I credit entirely the inspiring poem.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Crisis
Two hours before time to head out Wrigley decides she hates her Halloween costume. It's pretty tragic when the imagination run head on into reality. Lesson to mom: try on the costume 3 days in advance and get signed contract that minds won't change.
For the record, I thought Bat Princess was a fabulous idea and when she'd let me try a few different things with the scarves she looked great, but she rejected the scarves all together.
Also for the record, when you're running from house to house demanding candy, it doesn't matter how your costume turned out.
For the record, I thought Bat Princess was a fabulous idea and when she'd let me try a few different things with the scarves she looked great, but she rejected the scarves all together.
Also for the record, when you're running from house to house demanding candy, it doesn't matter how your costume turned out.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Happy Birthday
I'm posting this 9 days late, but we did celebrate on time. I swear.
A couple of days before of her birthday, in proper alomost 5 year old exuberance, Wrigley proclaimed, "I'm so glad I was born!"
So am I. So am I.
Matrimony?
W: Mom, did you know that I'm the Mom of Marble, you're the Mom of me, and Daddy's the Mom of you. Even though you're not from the same family, the taller one takes care of the little bit shorter one.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
What Do You Get The Girl Who Has Everything?
Well, a little more than a week before her fifth birthday ... Wrigley got her first nightmare!
On three consecutive nights, she had three tiny nightmares. One was about a river (that's all she could tell me about it); one was about falling off a cliff ("and then ..." quothe the Wrig, "... and then ... that's all I remember."); and one was about falling over a waterfall and "Mommy and you were on the shore and that wasn't fun."
On the third night, she refused to even try to fall asleep. So I blatantly plagiarized from a story that someone wrote during the children's writing conference I attended this summer. The story was about a boy who had nightmares, so his mom helped him make "nightmare spray."
Wrig and I came upstiars and I hollered, "Chris, can you look up the recipe for the nightmare spray on the internet?" Not exactly dying to relinquish valuable computer time, she hollered back, "Oh, I already printed it up. It's in the back of the purple book [where we keep our recipes]."
I flipped open the purple book, found a recipe that didn't have a picture of food on it, and said, "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh." I took Wrig into the kitchen where we filled a spray bottle with 1 c. of water, 1/8 tsp. of salt, and two drops of lavender oil. I told Wrig the recipe says you have to shake it up and say, "No more nightmares" three times. I have never heard her say anything more passionately than those three "no more nightmares." We went downstairs, sprayed a little nightmare spray outside the bedroom doors, and cuddled blissfully to sleep.
After about three nightmareless nights (spraying the doors carefully each night), Wrig - ever the scientist - asked, "I wonder how the nightmare spray works?"
The answer, my friends, is that nightmare spray works quite well, thank you very much.
On three consecutive nights, she had three tiny nightmares. One was about a river (that's all she could tell me about it); one was about falling off a cliff ("and then ..." quothe the Wrig, "... and then ... that's all I remember."); and one was about falling over a waterfall and "Mommy and you were on the shore and that wasn't fun."
On the third night, she refused to even try to fall asleep. So I blatantly plagiarized from a story that someone wrote during the children's writing conference I attended this summer. The story was about a boy who had nightmares, so his mom helped him make "nightmare spray."
Wrig and I came upstiars and I hollered, "Chris, can you look up the recipe for the nightmare spray on the internet?" Not exactly dying to relinquish valuable computer time, she hollered back, "Oh, I already printed it up. It's in the back of the purple book [where we keep our recipes]."
I flipped open the purple book, found a recipe that didn't have a picture of food on it, and said, "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh." I took Wrig into the kitchen where we filled a spray bottle with 1 c. of water, 1/8 tsp. of salt, and two drops of lavender oil. I told Wrig the recipe says you have to shake it up and say, "No more nightmares" three times. I have never heard her say anything more passionately than those three "no more nightmares." We went downstairs, sprayed a little nightmare spray outside the bedroom doors, and cuddled blissfully to sleep.
After about three nightmareless nights (spraying the doors carefully each night), Wrig - ever the scientist - asked, "I wonder how the nightmare spray works?"
The answer, my friends, is that nightmare spray works quite well, thank you very much.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Planning
W: Mom, some people grow up to be old and crabby, but I am planning to not be old and crabby when I grow up.
M: (trying my very best not to crack up) Do you know anyone old and crabby?
W: No.
M: How do you know about being old and crabby?
W: Oh, Ed told me about it.
Hmmm, what else is Ed filling this kid's brain with, I wonder all the time.
M: (trying my very best not to crack up) Do you know anyone old and crabby?
W: No.
M: How do you know about being old and crabby?
W: Oh, Ed told me about it.
Hmmm, what else is Ed filling this kid's brain with, I wonder all the time.
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