i did this instead. played in the yard.
i came out to find this. he has an obsession with sitting in the mini trucks. weird. he was there for, i swear, 38 minutes. just... having a time.
my morning glory is blooming. these are such a perfect blue that they don't look real.
the dogs have made some progress. typically louie spends a lot of her time telling darby what he's NOT allowed to do. "you're not allowed to touch sam, touch the baby, eat the spoils of the baby eating at his highchair and throwing shit down to the floor, snuggle with the lady, sleep on the bed, eat the treats, run, jump, play, or bark." however, louie will now allow darby into her personal cylendar. apparently under the raspberries is great relaxation space.
at first i didn't get what her problem is, because lou LOVES to play with other dogs to an annoying level. but i can see her point... he is very proud of himself, isn't he:
and lastly, here's a picture of what i should have been attending to:
all i do is wish i was out here.
but i'm not. because i'm inside sewing for something i can't tell you about.
oh also, chicken update: we have one rooster! we were instantly in love with him. hilarious to watch:
sam said that he's tired of everyone thinking he's funny because his jokes are "bizarre" (knock knock. who's there? tutankhamun i had treasures in my tomb who took them!") and then i said that the fact that he knew we were laughing at him because he was "bizarre" made me think he was even more bizarre and love him even more.
explain this to me... henry LAUGHS at sam all day and all night. what the hell is so interesting about sam to him? i make actual hilarious faces at henry with no results. :S
i don't really post that much. i KNOW that.
so if you're noticing a change around here, it's because I downgraded my typepad account.
means to an end? perhaps. i'm doing 90 zajillion things at any one time, sometimes i don't even feed the dogs at a reasonable hour (yes, i got another dog; he's staring at me because he's clingy).
and i'm working on something big. i can't tell you about it yet, but i'm pretty effing excited and exhausted.
i got my camera out to show you pictures of the patio that eli and i are building. i started to walk out the patio doors when my efforts were thwarted... the lock was gone rendering the door unopenable. please see here:
as a side note, maybe you're less concerned about the knob being gone or maybe you didn't even notice because of all the filth in and around the door but let me explain! there's no way to explain. the window is covered in waxy crayon window marker from 2007 because i can't bear to erase sam's "i love mom" with smiling sunshine drawing off it and the marker (blue) on the door frame and adjacent hardware won't come off anyway and things look sticky on the handle there because certain people in the house don't even seem to notice when their hands are covered in syrup. anyway stop looking at the filth because the point is that hole next to the handle where the open/close/unlock function happens.
this took A LOT of thinking like a tiny baby with a passion for putting things into things. i often find baby socks in the utensils drawer, or dog toys in the laundry, or sesame snaps and granola bars out in the yard. so the possibilities were pretty much endless as long as they involved putting a small thing into a thing it would never normally be in.
i finally found the open/close/lock mechanism in the box of fruit cups:
anyway. becuase i just told this whole giant story to you i'll put up the pictures of the partially finished patio even though i just decided that with the pots pushed out of the circle and the thing half filled with gravel it looks sort of derelict, but i've made this much of a fuss about getting out the fucking patio door that you deserve to see the thing.
you'll be more impressed when it's all finished and i've composed the frame. for now, imagine how hard it is to make a perfect (which it is) circle out of brick things. it involves a golf shaft, a string, a knot and hands and knees with small garden spade. and a level which eli calls a "whisky stick" for some reason. i kept asking for the "whisky dick" which he didn't laugh at because i guess it isn't a funny "nomenclature abstraction." anyway... there's that.
it's right next to what we call "little italy" not because of the great pizza to be had but because when i'm under it i wish for parmegianno cheese, red wine in a juice glass and a couple olives as though i'm IN italy. it's a grape plant on a trelis but that's how it makes me feel anyway:
i have some fucking thing growing under my eye and i don't know what it is. it's a series of red bumps that are painful to the touch, not itchy and get worse or better on any given day. what are they!??!?!
i want another dog.
Hank was turning 2 weeks old. Now he's all one.
then henry got undressed and i loofah'd the carrots. and cake. off of him.
and finally he spent the remainder of his night carrying his bottle around in his mouth like a dog (too much time with louie, i told you) and playing with the paper from his presents which is so cliche, henry.
i'm not sure if it's sam's first communion (and related party coming and going) or henry turning one, or a combination of them both, or fear of the PhD approaching or WHAT but i have been in a funk for nearly a month now. by funk i mean, not enjoying most things anymore. eli insists that i'm pregnant (KILL ME) but i don't imagine that's possible. either way, i hate feeling this way. too many big milestones over? that's likely it, eh?
somehow "cloaca" comes up in my life often. it might be a word you've never uttered or even heard but for some reason, it's in my vocabulary and comes out of my mouth often enough that it's worth noticing. sorta wish it wasn't... at any rate, a cloaca is essentially, a bird butt.
it relates to this particular post in that eggs come out of the cloaca (totally necessary for laying eggs) and this post is about eggs.
the peep peeps arrived at my parents' this week. squeeeeeeeeee.
it's unclear to me how we'll eat these. well, they won't look like this when they go to be... you know. i guess i've been telling myself, "self... you're going to eat chicken, aren't you? yes... you are. the chicken from the store you eat is not good for you or the chickens. these chickens here, they're living a nice life. and they're not full of antibiotics. so eat them."
we all sort of felt weird when they arrived though. pop decided he had better order some layer-chickens so that some are left when these ones to go market. literal empty nest. so... some no-kill chickens are on their way.
speaking of laying chickens... some chickens lay colored eggs. i've seen this on martha stewart before which is why i thought it had to be SO exotic that i'd never see a naturally turquoise egg in real life. but some friends have chickens that lay those! crazy. aren't they pretty:
so colored eggs are fun. but this is easter, and easter calls for extreme colored eggs.
you don't need to spend $3.00 on paas to get easter eggs, people. if you don't know this, i'm sort of ashamed for you, but here is how you make colored easter eggs.
1 tsp white vinegar
food coloring in various colors
this requires knowledge of the color wheel and basic color mixing rules. you should know this. you should. mix your colors so that there are 20 DROPS of food coloring (at least) in every separate color cup. so, for turquoise you might add 10 drops of blue and 10 drops of green
1/2 cup boiling water
add to cup and stir. now add an egg for at least 5 minutes (for a bold color) or closer to one minute for pastel colors.
someone has found my blog by searching "pics of tube sock tits."
why you'd want to see that, i'm not sure, but i can tell you i'm flattered. i've always considered them as more of a "banana boob" but i can see what you're thinking, internet searcher. kudos.
actually, if one does a google image search of such a term NOT AT WORK... hehehe not at work, friends... what you'll find is that hank's adorable little legs are seen on the bottom right:
i don't know whether to feel horrible or proud of that.
i don't know if i ever posted this... actually i believe i didn't because i thought the internet would fail to get it and would judge my parenting (you all are anyway and actually i don't know that it bothers me anyway).
i'll set the scene, maybe then it will make more sense why sam drew a picture of himself beating me and it's okay.
in his lunch, i wrote a note as i often do that said to "do up your zipper, OR ELSE!" okay, going further back, sam refuses to do up his zippers. i guess it's just an extra step he can't afford to take at school when he's rushed for time at all times (that's because he's slow, but his teacher just doesn't respect that about him). i told him he's FARR TOOOO OLLLD to be going around town with his zipper down... and because he's forgetful, i wrote the note to remind him. yes, i threatened him a little. when he got home he asked me what the "or else" was and i told him... "knuckle sandwich" and we both laughed because it's absurd.
the next day i found this post-it'd to my bathroom wall:
he said he thought it would be insiprational. it wasn't; but it was hysterical, which is why i took a picture of it. that's clearly me with the curly hair... i'm being "kick-punched" by sam as a result of having not put up his star wars poster. it's my "or else."
anyway, i'm getting to really like sam's notes. he wrote quite a lengthy one to eli on friday that i orated to him and he was to record on paper. all it needed to say was "we're at grandma's, henry is with us, let the dog out to pee." but it said so, so much more. the first notable thing was him writing that eli should go and pick up henry from daycare (as though we would be leaving henry there and then going to grandmas, nice try). but a lot of it was really focused on what to do if when louie farted: if it was an egg fart do this, if it was a regular fart do that, where she should and should not fart, what the consequences of her farting in the house would be, and lastly, please record louie's fart behavior for him so he could review it when he got home.
sam is writing a series of movies... at christmas he got a blank black book... so far 102 pages of it (front and back) are the novel he's writing from which he will adapt the screen play.
he was bringing it to school every day to read to kids on the bus and during recess. he'd been getting a lot of feedback (written or otherwise) and a lot of requests from the girls to have their names used for characters in the book. the week before march break, i assume he was screwing around with it during class time, because his teacher took it. she told him that if he were good, maybe he could have it back monday. the problem is, monday was 10 days away because monday following her taking it was actually vacation. THAT. BITCH. i'm pretty fed up with her at this point. i had to write a note that did a lot of "insisting" and "always-ing." it's not like it was a set of wax teeth she took from him, it was, actually, his life's work.
anyway, it's back. but i can see that mrs. whatserface and i have a strained relationship now.
it was quite a nice weekend, and so we went for a walk in what is, decidedly, where people go for anonymous sex. i thought it was a bunch of bullshit, but i was wrong. i'll say no more. but here are some family, rated G pictures of the outing:
henry's up, i can hear him making dramatic noises in his crib. but quickly, some wide angle portraits of ol' lou:
henry says all of our names in the house... mama, papa, ditdit (sam, i don't know either)...
right now he's yelling maMAH! so i have to go.