Santa's Airport is Open!

We finally got the North Pole Airstrip put up in the front yard last weekend.  Our addition this year is the rocket ship.  The hot air balloon had to be retired, sadly, due to unfixable leak. Note to self: don't buy used inflatables off of eBay anymore.

Halloween 2011

I'm very glad my kids are at a point where now when a camera comes out they put their arms around each other and smile. It feels like a victory because they used to just stand there and smile with distance between them, and I could easily crop one of them out of the picture. The integration of them as a unit instead of two orbiting beings... it pleases me.

Bloomer wanted to be a black kitty cat, which is easy enough to do with black shirt and pants.  I sewed on the tummy panel, made her some black gloves with paw prints on the palms, got the mask and tail... voila!  Her costume was authentic enough that both Zoom and Zapper freaked out when they saw her. I'm not saying someone overreacted, but someone peed on Bloomer's placemat on the dinner table that night. (*cough*Zapper*cough*) (I should point out this is a rare occurrence these days, and is much more easily cleaned up than other places she has christened).

Of course there must be a silly picture for every "serious" one.

 

I can't even explain what Boxer is doing here. The chicken arms definitely come from me - Bloomer and I call that the "angry pigeon" pose after the Pigeon who wants to drive the bus when he gets mad.  I suspect this is Boxer's MacArthur pose, which is reminiscent of this picture:

 So. Adorable. Thank goodness I want to munch on his chubby little cheeks instead of his candy. Much better for my diet.

Dear Teenage Boy Working the Checkout at the Grocery Store

I admire your stick-to-it-tiveness, working the check-out, inside, on one of the most gorgeous days of October. I really, really do.  But if you're going to ask a sweatpants-wearing, red-nosed, 30-something woman with some weird thing going on with her hair in that one spot in the back how she's enjoying her weekend, you really should be prepared for the intensity of eye contact and arched eyebrow after I sweep my gaze over the conveyer belt laden with Cold-eeze, Nyquil, chicken soup, probiotic yogurt, and tampons.

As we say in the South, "Oh, honey. Bless your heart."

Reason #112 I Can't Make Eye Contact with My Kids' Teachers

Here's a little story my son wrote (all misspellings and punctuation his):

"The Time by Dad Blow Up"

One morning I went down stairs for breakfast. My Dad had 18 waffles and 22 pancake's. Then he had to go to the bathroom so bad he exploded. Then I asked my Mom why did Dad Explode? Then Mom tolled me he ate to much food.

Family Vacation

So! We went to Disney World last week for the kids' Fall Break (which happens when you start school in August).  Rather than post a pantload of photos here with commentary, I'm just going to direct you the Flickr set of the ones I posted if you're interested. Because in addition to tired from doing laundry and catching up on housework (yes, even a week later), I'm also frugal with my energy (read: a tad lazy).

Soon I will have a post on Competitive Pumpkin Decorating. Sounds scintillating, doesn't it?

Gravity. Check.

I have to think that Boxer is going through some sort of growth spurt, or preparing for one, because the boy has wiped out 3 times in the last two weeks. Granted, he has started playing tackle football, but these wipeouts are beyond those he has on the field. These are the normal walking-along-oops-gravity-works! sort of wipeouts.  This means either he is taking after my side of the family, or he's going through a growth spurt. Since he is his father's son in every way, I'm hoping for growth spurt.

He's suffered an array of scraped knees, bruised shins, some weird thing on the top of the shoulder that I can't even explain how he got, face scratches, and rib bruises. There's a couple leg bruises I can attribute to football hits. Most comical has been the coincidence of two teeth falling out (those that flank the front top teeth).  He's looking a little ragged, is what I'm saying.

I feel like "growth spurt" isn't the right word for this. On one hand, childhood is one big growth spurt from the time the baby is fresh from the chute until they are heading to college. On the other hand are three scraped up knuckles and a wart.  Still, though, when the kids come to give me a hug I am amazed how short they are when they seem so larger-than-life.

Festivus Friday

There's a phenomenon around our house I like to call Festivus Friday. When I meet the kids at the bus stop (they stay in "after school" Monday through Thursday, and get to ride the bus home on Friday to watch television for three hours relax until Brief gets home), we walk home and there is an Airing of Grievances. 99% of the time it is my son doing the airing, as has been his habit for the two years past where we've had this Friday arrangement.

The grievances have included any of the following which have happened to him during the day (some multiple times):

• Someone shoved paper in his shirt
• Someone looked at him funny
• His homework was hard
• He only got one library book (but could have gotten two)
• Something smelled funny
• His toe hurts

There is nothing a mother loves more than the knowledge of being a confidant for her small child. There is apparently, however, a limit to the amount of unloading I want to be the receptacle for. Now, on the whole, he doesn't have a lot of complaints, so this seems to be his "thing", and I can respect that. I mean, I've read that I can't tell him to start shoving his feelings into a secret inside box until he's at least nine, so clearly I've got to suck it up for a couple more years at least.

He should at least have the courtesy to get a pole, though.