Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Dear Blog:

Please excuse Melissa from her blogland absence as she was contemplating. . .
anticipating. . .
and consumed by. . .

Monday Night Football, baby!!!!

Ok, legitimate excuse or not, Sam and I celebrated our anniversary at Heinz Stadium watching a bunch of roughnecks push each other up and down the field (and into the sidelines). . . refs who really aren't too sure about the rulebooks. . . especially when it comes to seven men on the line and 10 seconds left and whether or not we're really into overtime. . .

Steelers and Ravens. . .

Monday Night Football, as Sam mused, should be on everyone's life list. Even if we did get home after 2am and had to get up at 7 to get Jack to school.

Awesome. Thundering loud. Stadium shaking. Goodness.

Celebrating the return of Monday Night's crashing helmets (in the opening promo)
right there at the field
while you're in the lion's mouth full roar.

Deafened, and screaming hoarse.

Watching the players groove to the rocken loud music as they warm up.
Feeling the chants at the stadium (so, but not quite, European Football).
Becoming part of the crashing. . . the power. . . of applause and cheering and
chaos.

And maybe you can see the faces and plays and replays at home. . . (with a much better, and cheaper, food selection). . .

but you can't feel the flow. . . the rhythm. . . the charge. . .

What an experience.

And today, Sam stayed home to be a part of the quiet, still of the day. . . so we might rest and savor last night's adventure. . . We've wandered through the late morning and afternoon in a white cottened tunnel of fog. . .

smiling. . .

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

open door days. . .


late summer. . . and I have discovered the magic of the

open door day. . .

not too warm. . .
cool breeze. . . blowing in through every window I can open in this house (which, currently, is every window). . . including the screen door. . . propped open. . .

so the boys and I and the dogs and wander in and out as we please. . .
(which may or may not be a good thing)

watching the shadows of the chimes swing on the front porch. . .
their lullaby of fall's breezy days. . . and summer's memory. . .


sitting in the front door stoop. . .
listening to planes drone overhead. . . someone has somewhere important to be. . . but today, here
is what's important. . . and absolutely nothing at all. . .



but Little Bill in the background. . . and dogs sleepy in the sunshine. . .



and happy blooms. . . and squirrels carrying treasured walnuts. . .

promises that fall will be sweet and full. . .

back to the week. . .

monday's beginnings. . .

a new week and groc shopping. . .revelling in grocery game savings and lots of fresh fruit. . .

drying Jack's tears at another week's pretest with errors. . . and no challenge list. . .
until Mama said the heck with the challenge list. . . we'll make Jack's challenge list. . .
with words he loves. . .
so, in addition to this week's list of pin, wig, am, and, etc.. . . Jack will be spelling Jedi and star (as in Star Wars, of course). . . which brightened his cloudy brown eyes considerably

my first day of Photography class. . . much anticipated. . . although I need to track down my camera manual. . . hmmm. . . .

rediscovering Sam's cub scout uniform. . . and much cub scout discussion at the dinner table. . . and thinking we need to find out how he can begin this journey. . .

watching the Empire Strikes Back . . . or half of it. . . with promises of part II tonight. . . and the continuing thrills Dark Vadar brings to the mini zeli screen. . . will Luke ever figure out that life saver?

into Tuesday. . .

and Lukey's first day back to Play Pals. . . with dear Miss Lynn. . . and jumping into things. . . ready to slide. . . and sing songs in circle time (climbing up that little ladder he conquered late in the Spring with little help from Mama. . .). . .
a little intimidated by the other children, but not much. . . saying hi and learning new names. . . sitting for the entire circle time (wow!). . .
and coloring fallish leaves (with much purple and blue and a stop sign and traffic light or two. . .). . .

asking to pee on the potty while we were out shopping. . .for the first time!. . .technically, in the parking lot. . . and he giggled as Mama picked him up and dashed him back into the store to the bathroom (in the back of the store). . . and he held it the whole way!. . . and peed. . . (thank you for portable potty seats. . .). . .

hoping to conquer the laundry monster today. . . he's lurking somewhere in the coffee room upstairs. . . waiting to rise up and drown me in a wave of socks as I try to cage him in the blue laundry basket. . .

and maybe bake some oatmeal raisin cookies. . .

Thursday, September 18, 2008

[a little voice from the backseat. . .

thursday, september 18. . .
12:18pm. . .
. . .as we sat in the McD's drive thru. . .]

I want aaaa french fries. . .

. . .
. . .
. . .

he-wo?

15 years ago. . .

at this very moment. . . .

I believe I was sitting at the kitchen table with my Aunt Georgie and Mom. Having some sort of breakfast. . . maybe. . . and I do remember coffee. . . Up at what seemed so early at the time (probably around 6:30ish. . . which is now every morning. . .). . . and realizing I had no shampoo or conditioner. . . and planning on running to Hills (do you remember that place?. . . they had the best hot dogs at their snack bar). . .

on the morning of our wedding. . .

Magic. Pure magic.

I can't believe that it was 15 years ago. . . It sounds like so long ago. . .

But I feel like this life. . . has always been this way. . . that that time before. . . was another life ago. . .

And yet, it sounds so long ago. . .And seems like yesterday. . .

The whole wedding prep thing was a nightmare. yikes. But I was determined that the wedding day would be perfect, because I wouldn't let any of that crazy stuff ruin my day.

And I didn't. It was perfect because it was the beginning. . .

Our life. . .
The one we would create together to be what we wanted.

And I can't believe it. We did it. We have created our own magic. Our own little happy kingdom in which to share our little happily ever after. And maybe the things around us aren't always perfect.

But that's OK. I love our life. I love this life that we have made together.

It sounds so very grown up. . . but I can't imagine ourselves that way. . .

I just remember that little girl fifteen years ago. The girl who cried the night before her wedding because everything was just so crazy. The girl who cried because she wasn't sure what being a wife really meant. What the whole job description entailed. . . And the dear boy who told her he didn't expect anything from her. Just that she should be herself. And that they would be happy together.

and we are. . .

I love you so very much, buddy. Thank you for asking me to be your wife.
For making my dreams come true. . .
For believing in me. . .
And making me your Queen in this happily every after. . .

this morning's buggy contents are brought to you. . .


courtesy of Sam's dentist appointment Monday. . .

a toothbrush (brush teef). . .
a small box of Aquafresh toothpaste. . .
and a bundle of sensodyne toothpaste. . .

Makes this little boy one happy pretend toothbrusher. . . or a pharmacy shopper ? . . .

every morning. . .


that little Luke waits until the very last minute to go potty. . . Which I cannot complain about, because he has been going like a champ. . .

But he holds it for an hour. . . bouncing around until he just can't hold it anymore. . .

And, don't dare ask him if he has to go. I no need potty, Mama! he growls in his very best Darth Vadar voice (did I mention it's all about Star Wars these days?).

But, he goes like a champ. (Let me tell you, potty training has been so much better this time around). And then we go upstairs. Together.

Wait por me, Mama. (No, he's not Spanish. . . somehow, all of his little f's sound like p's these days. . .I thought it was the whole stuffy. . .puffy. . .nose thing. . .but not so sure now. . .).

And we trudge up the stairs, with something. Ususally, it's the buggy. Today, the buggy happened to still be in his bedroom (how on earth did we get downstairs this morning without it?). . . So it was the signs. Not the little signs. The big guys. . .

all three of them. . .

Can you guess who carried them?
. . . .And the full potty bowl?

I get some signs, Mama.
Wait, Mama!
You carry sign.
You carry rail crossing.
I carry stop.
(And yet, that one doesn't come out pop. . . ? )

Did they ever tell you Motherhood is a balancing act?

Is this what they meant?

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

homework time. . .

I'm learning to do the pluses of stuff. . . Homework is actually fun now.

Luke sat down with Jack for homework time. Coloring a picture from his favorite show, Super Readers. Jack busy at work on his math homework (addition). A test tomorrow. . . And practicing spelling words.

So much easier this year. Even though it's every day. He likes it so much more (It's like baby work, it's so easy. . .).

a tuesday afternoon. . .

Last week was a nightmare, as the stomach flu ran its course through our little family. . . starting with Jack Monday into Tuesday. . . Luke all night Thursday. . . me, Saturday into Sunday. . . and Sam, Sunday into yesterday. . . Ugh. . .

The stomach flu? Really? That seems like such a wintertime thing. . .

And I'm hoping this is it. . . we've done our tour of duty for the season. Germs you are hearby banished from the Zeli kingdom until next school season, because we are done. The End.

Anyway, today felt like a catch up day. . . Laundry, dishes, clean the potty, etc. etc.

Luke and I took a break in the great. . .

or not so great. . . outdoors this afternoon. Really looks like a storm coming? But only because Mother Nature is taking her turn with the stomach flu and she's feeling a little grumpy. . .

Anyway. . . Luke did his mandatory laps around the house with his buggy. Tried to get him to ride that cute little caterpillar guy (you sit on his back. . . hop up and down and push with your feet. . .). . . But Luke, in usual fashion. . . refuses to sit on any toy. . . And decided pushing the buggy was much more fun.

You sit, Mama.

Yeah.

Anyway. Buggy. Then maybe a throw of the new football?

Or not. Guess that's not a Mama game either.

No, Mama. And the football went into the sand. (Where Max promptly chewed when we looked away minutes later).

Paint-paint. Making stop signs, and rail crossings, and yields, and u-turns. . .

Pway twucks. And the trucks went up and down the car ramp for a while.


Bubbles? Until he decided it was bubble time. His way, of course. He's so cute learning how to blow (not in time for birthday candles, but there's always next year. . .). . .


First blowing as hard as his little lungs could woooooosssshhhh!

Then the bubble wand went straight onto his mouth. . .

Creating the ever so cute bubble beard.

And he would laugh. . .


A fun afternoon togther. . .

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Jack's Saturday morning musings. . .


Did they use these before computers? (my manual typewriter)

What was the world like when there were no colors?
Were there ever no colors?
Was the world ever just black and white?

[then I we talked about how the world changes as people invent new things. . . and how before there was tv, people listened to stories and programs on the radio. . .]

Was that before they invented books?

Friday, September 12, 2008

morning visitor. . .


Sam, Jack, and I watched this guy this morning on the porch. Desperately trying to repair his web after the morning rain.

His web just a day ago, on our front porch. . .
the biggest I've seen. . .
nature's artwork,
breathtaking. . . and
heavy with the morning dew. . .


Now completely gone. . .


After apprising himself of the damage. . . he retreated inside the railing to his little spider home. . . and I suppose he will try again tonight. . .
Nature's tireless magic. . .

it's a blue milk morning. . .

Little Luke up most of the night with the stomach flu (probably a result of us letting him play after dinner last night at the Chik-fil-A play area, I suppose. . .our track record there: not so good).

After much running back and forth from our room to his, and then the bathroom. . . I slept on his floor on a sleeping bag. . . under my sweet pink quilt. . .

And he slept until 9ish this morning. . .

So, it's a blue milk morning (as he calls the blue powerade). And his spirits are pretty good.

Me. . . Not so much. Spent much of the morning bumping into things. . . can't see, can't hear. . . Poor Sam and Jack just laughed at me this morning.

Today's plans: a run to the post office. Maybe to Dicks to get Sam's correct sock size. . . Maybe a stop at the mall to check out the trains (as a reward for awesome potty success this week).

the hat. . .

Each morning as the bus pulls away, his little face is all smiles out that window. . . and I think. . .

I feel. . .

just how small he is, moving away. . .

moving into. . . the world on that yellow bus. Growing and becoming.

And without him know. . . realizing. . . he is unfurling those wings. . . growing stronger. . . and independent. . . and beautiful.

Then that same sweet smile returns in the afternoon. Bouncing off the bus. Happy. As if time stood still, and he never left at all.

He returned yesterday, backpack so heavy for such a little boy (although he would insist he's not little).

Homework? I ask.

I don't have any homework. He insists. And inwardly I groan at the struggles we had last year during homework time. He insisting that he knows. Wanting so much to be independent, and know. And my not knowing how to balance this sense of independence and still guide him in the right direction.

How do you know? Parenting is such a feeling around in the dark. Hand blind, frantically searching the wall for the switch. The one that will illuminate this unfamiliar room that seems to change shape. . . dimension. . .layout. . . daily.

No homework? I ask.

Nope. He insists.

What's this? I ask pulling out a book. A book. My baby has textbooks now.

It's a book. But not a book. He's ever so clear. Does he get that from his mother? (Sam would probably have a good answer for that. . .).

Wow. I say. Don't push. Don't push. . .

He opens to show me the story inside. We disagree a bit about reading words inside, and my fears are hardening my stomach. Is this going to be all year?

Would you like to hear the story? He asks. And that smile returns.

I would love it. And I relax myself. Let him take the lead. Let him show me the way.



And he reads. Confidently. A sweet little story about Pam and Dan and her little red hat that flys away. . .

like my heart

. . .with the wind. Until Dan catches it and brings it back to her. And then they go! go! go!

And he just beamed.
So proud of himself and what he could do. Reading all by himself. And if asked, he probably couldn't tell you why he was so happy. But he could feel it.

I remembered those days from Kindergarten when he flatly refused to read those little books that he brought home. Ones that they had worked on together as a class all morning. Insisting that he couldn't remember those words. Or it was too hard. Or that he already knew what they said.

And now he read with ease. Because he was ready. Inside he knew, he felt, he was ready.

So excited. Would you like to hear it again? And I couldn't stop beaming. He read it three times.

I wish I could keep this book here. He said. But we peeked at the stories ahead, and I promised him it would come back more often than he thought.

And read it again this morning to his Dada before he headed off to work.

His teacher related to us the night before that the transformation that took place from the beginning to the end of the year was absolutely amazing. I remember that transformation in Kindergarten. Not realizing that first grade would be just as magical.


And here it is. The magic. Already.

And even as I continue to feel along here in the dark. I'm smiling. Because in the center of the room is a small light. The light of my boys. And I guess I really didn't need that switch after all.

Because they know the way.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

and today. . .



He bounded off the bus, all smiles. Feeling so much better.

Dropping his lunch box as he reached the yard. . .reaching to wrap his little arms around me in a hug. . .

Smiles. . .


And ready to ride his new bike (a preloved bike from a new neighbor. . .it goes faster than my old bike. . .repaired, and the perfect size for our growing Jack).


Max and I sat out in the sunshine, watching our buddy ride up and down the street.


Pavement warm on my feet. . . late summer sun. . . the crinkle of early fall leaves dancing, skittering up the street.

A moment . . . time standing still. . .

rainy tuesday. . .


Jack home from school today. . . The nurse called me on my cell on Monday, saying Jack had a stomach ache and wanted to come home. She tried to convince him to stay for lunch, but he wasn't being convinced.

So I talked to him on the phone. . . and I could feel his discomfort. . .

And he really doesn't complain about his stomach hurting unless he's going to throw up.


Which he did. . . after I picked him up and we arrived home.

Right beside the sidewalk.


Poor him. He slept most of the day with a fever.

And awoke this rainy Tuesday not feeling quite right, and not wanting to eat.

So the boys and I spent this rainy day together. On the new couch, with the window cracked a bit beside us. And we watched toons together while we could hear the quiet rain outside. . . the breeze so cool, refreshing. . . whispers of fall. . .


And in a career-driven world. . . where much of my worth to people who don't really matter hinge on my job title and the size of my paycheck. . .


This is what really matters. As Sam reminded me on the phone. My voice of wisdom.


Aren't you glad that you can be the one to pick him up from school? To stay with him when he is sick?



And here. . . these quiet moments together. . . singing the Spongebob song on the couch as it continues to spatter rain. . . these are the moments that truly matter. . .

over in the meadow. . .


over in the meadow. . .
boink! said the mama
we boink! said the bee
and they boinked all day in the crack in the stick. . .

thank you so much!
thank you so much in a meadow.
see you water, mama.
see you water, cheese (that would be the camera).

A happy little man this morning. Playing happily with the playdoh we made together last week (in a rainbow of colors. . .three playdoh batches colored in red, blue, and yellow, then mixed to make some new colors. . .so much fun).

A doughnut! (noticing the circles his little signs made in the playdoh).

He's been going like a champ on the potty for the past three days. So very exciting. Having about one accident a day. And, at times, asking to go when he needs to. I think we might be on our way (shhhh, don't tell Luke).


Monday, after coming home from an evening of grocery shopping (while Sam and the boys stayed behind to watch some football, little Luke helped unload the groceries in the kitchen. Loved it.

He opened the brown crinkly bags like it was Christmas time. Discovering all sorts of goodies, which he then loaded up into his broken down blue and red buggy. He carted around a box of toothpaste (brush teef!), a box of fruit by the foot, a bag of cotton balls, and a bunch of bananas. Which he proceeded to tear apart and hand out to each one of us.

Round and round he went with the buggy. First the toothpaste. Then the bananas. Sometimes in the bag. Sometimes on the piano bench. It kept him busy all evening long. So much fun. . .

Saturday, September 6, 2008

the birthday boy. . .


Happy birthday, my buddy.

Love you so much. Love your sense of adventure. How you are eager to explore the world with me, ready to discover and learn and understand. . .

Love how you challenge yourself to reach your full potential. . .

Love how you grab onto new experiences, holding on tight, enjoying the ride. . .

Love that you are a total renaissance man: a reader, a snowboarder, kayaker, chef, runner, treasure hunter, climber, debater. . .

Love our conversation, deep and silly. . .

Love that you bring out the best in me. . .in all of us. . .

Love that you believe in me, totally. . .

Your birthday is a total gift to me. My soulmate. Our lives so intertwined, that maybe it is one soul in two bodies. . . Looking forward to the adventures, experiences, and laughter that this 37th year will bring.

Happy birthday, baby. I love you completely.

Forever.
Faithfully.

happy birthday, buddy. . .

My best buddy's birthday today. . .

And, in usual Zeli house fashion, we are celebrating with the ususal birthday weekend.

Last night: Two pre-birthday presents, a special Lego construction by Jack and a culinary Obi Wan Kenobee (a cool cinnamon and sugar mill shaker) to match Luke Skywalker (the sea salt mill) and Darth Vader (the pepper mill). Jack's first soccer game of the fall season. Uncle Ken joined us, and came back to the house for a backyard fire (no, not the whole backyard, just in the fire bowl thingy) and marshmallows. He and Sam enjoyed some guy time, and Jack and I fell asleep watching Ratatouille on the new couch and chair. . . bliss. . .

Today, birthday in full swing: Coffee and chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Sam is out kayaking this morning before the rain comes. Later we hope to have a great dinner out somewhere. . . cake with Nan and PapPap. . . a visit to Pittsburgh and Rei for some more birthday goodies. . . presents. . . and homemade crab-stuffed mushrooms. Yum =0]

Birthday weekend, baby. Let's get this party started!

Friday, September 5, 2008

being mama. . .

Found this posted on another blog. . . and have been reading bits and pieces of it here and there. . . It's such a great piece I want to post it here. . . and remember. . .

remember. . .

every day what is most important. Holding onto those little moments. . .

My dear MIL and I were sharing the same exact thoughts. . . moments. . . memories. . . last night in the Jeep as we drove home together (with crazy, silly, excited boys in the back demanding doughnuts from the doughnut house. . . with a Nan laughing. . . ready to indulge her babies and her sweet tooth as well). . . driving home from a beautiful family dinner (at the Olive Garden. . . indulging my Italian tooth. . .). . . so nice to sit down and just talk. . .

laugh. . .

They helped us move furniture. . . And get ready for the coming of the new couch today. . .

And, the best part. . . Just sitting out on the porch, while the boys enjoyed their doughnuts, running around in the dark. . . And we just talked. . . About all sorts of things. . .

Crazy politics. . . The world. . .

Whatever it was really didn't matter. We talked. And listened. . . Debated, and passionate. . . But, most important, we shared the time. And our thoughts. And our hearts.

Loved every moment.

Anyway, here's the Anna Quindlen essay. Love it.
Printing one for myself to hang beside my desk. And one for my dear Mother-in-law (who is so much more like Mom. . .and friend. . . than the phrase suggests). I know she'll tear up like I did.

On Being a Mom
by Anna Quindlen

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One boy is toilet trained at 3, his brother at 2. When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow.

I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language-mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, What did you get wrong? (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts.

It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

his sense of humor. . .




Even while sick, he has a (mild) sense of humor.

He needs ba'ries. . . (showing me the Lego Percy)

He doesn't need batteries. He doesn't take batteries.

He needs ba'ries. . .

[Quick Mama, change the subject. . . I point to the computer screen where I'm editing Disney photos. . . and Jack is on the screen. . .]
Who's that?

Who's dat?

Yep. Who's that?




That's Bobby.

[Bobby is frequently mentioned lately. . . but we're not too sure who he is. . .]
That's not Bobby. Who is Bobby?

That's not Bobby. That's Wuke.

Our Jokester. . .

have a great day, buddy. . .


he smiled at me, as we waited alone at the bus stop for the first time this year. . .

Kinda liked that because we could just hang out. . . be . . .and talk as we do with only our hearts listening.

It will be a great day, because I'll make it that way.

And off he bounded onto the bus, for his assigned seat. And smiled a big smile, waving out his window.

He gets it. . .

Monday, September 1, 2008

new names. . .

at dinner we decided on new names.

Jack would now like to be known as Super Indy.

Dada: Super Star Space Monkey (but only as a picture, not as a word)

Mama: Captain Mama Kirk piloting the little sister ship to the Enterprise (although Dada's suggestion of Scrapasaurus. . .with a Velociraptor claw that could slice paper instantly. . .was pretty cool)

end of summer picnic. . .

We packed up the boys and Max right before lunchtime and headed up to Ohiopyle for a picnic and some play in the woods.

Wow, everyone else had the same idea!

Such a beautiful day. . .

Luckily, we found a great spot by a stream where the boys and Max could romp.

Had a relaxing afternoon catching all sorts of creatures
(one big and one small crayfish, one brown salamander, one golden salmander that liked Sam so much he crawled all over his shoes for quite a while, and one fish!)
throwing rocks and sticks
splashing in the frigid water
finding pretend treasure
(a dinosaur tooth, an old map, a rabbit tooth, an elephant tusk . . .)
Lukey pushed his buggy all around

a wonderful day.

Blue skyed. And happy.