Pea Pickin’

I love our little vegetable garden. I do. I really, really do. It is becoming a treasured and beautiful space.

But what I love, love, love even more is when our little girl dons the sweet old timey apron Grannie Pie made her and goes to work in that garden.

Cheers,
D

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Seven

The boy is now seven.

He’s been seven for a little while and he has made it clear he isn’t very impressed.

I was informed on multiple occasions over the days following his birthday that seven just doesn’t feel any different than six did. He was clearly a little miffed.

He appears to be recovering.

This year’s birthday was extra special because Grannie Pie and PawPaw were here.

Grannie Pie spent time in the morning drawing with G . . .

R had to give G his present birthday morning because according to her, “. . .we always, always, ALWAYS open one present early!”

R created a custom calendar for G using pictures she selected from the past seven years of his life. He was really excited. Watching the two of them go through the pictures was sweet.

Later in the day we hosted what was the easiest, most low-key party we have ever put together. That is saying something, too, because we are certainly not known for big blow-out birthday bashes. (awk!)

We started by meeting several of G’s friends and their parents at the local theater to be instructed (indoctrinated?) by a certain little yellow peanut on the evils of capitalism, specifically to the environment, courtesy of a company using the little yellow peanut’s face to market products from seventy different companies, including SUVs. After the movie we gathered at the house to eat cake . . .

I always make the cake . . . and they love me for my effort if not for my results. This is one of the few traditions we’ve managed to hang onto for more than two years in a row. This is a wingless, reverse stripe, floppy attened, really happy bumblebee. With beady eyes.

There were, of course, also presents to be opened . . .

Thanks to G’s friends and their very generous parents we are also the most well armed family in the neighborhood. Our armory boasts weapons from a broad range of time periods. Here is just a tiny sample . . .

That boy is so ferocious!

Thanks to Grammie, grandson and grandfather had an opportunity to bond over Snap Circuits® after the party. This is now . . .

That was then . . .

Sure enough, father and son also had a chance to bond over Snap Circuits® . . .

Thanks to G’s parents his is now the proud owner of a VCR . . .

A clock radio . . .

And a cassette player (Dual! Only the best for our boy.) . . .

All from the second-hand store.

G is also the proud owner of a tool bag . . .

Full of shiny new tools . . .

Which he put to good use dismantling all the electronic devices we gave him specifically for that purpose.

Because I’m weird like that.

C says we really need to get him something he can take apart that can be put back together, like a carburetor. I told C that is fine with me as long as he (C) knows how to put it back together so the back together part actually happens.

This is the coolest picture of the day, taken by Grannie Pie, who is always taking very cool pictures . . .

Happy Birthday dear, sweet boy. I love you to the moon and back.

xoxoxo,
Mama

The Boy & His Trap

Leprechaun trap that is . . .

Design by G, future engineer. Or architect. Or stylist. Mamma and Daddy don’t do the kids’ projects for them in this house, by golly.

The leprechaun climbs up the gold coins and follows them until he falls in the can – the lid, of course, remains off until the leprechaun falls into the trap.

(Like the eyes? The child can make his giant eyeballs appear entirely white if he is so inclined. Creepy.)

Before building the trap G and I had this little exchange:

G:  “Does the trap have to be really fancy to catch a leprechaun?”

M: “Depends on how smart the leprechaun is.”

G: “I hope I get a dumb one.”

And just to be obnoxious to all of my friends and family living where winter involves snow, this is what we do after school these days . . .

Amen,
D

P.S. As I’m in the office writing this and G is volunteering to read books if it means he can play a game on Daddy’s new iPad and R is trying to figure out what she can do to earn game time it occurs to me that our children talk just as loud as I do. Poor C.