The griddle, too.

The scene: A wife stands at the kitchen sink, barefoot (but not pregnant) with three young children swarming around her (who would have been pulling on her apron strings, I'm sure, had she been wearing an apron (but she's not)) while she attempts to wash dishes.

Enter Husband.

Husband: Hey, there's a griddle over here, since you're doing hand-dishes...oh...uh... I mean...uh...I wasn't... Oh, no. I just...uh... I. Appreciate. You. So. Much.

******

He certainly backpedaled quickly, didn't he?

In truth, it was the most hilarious thing he's done recently. We both busted up laughing about, right there at the kitchen sink—because Andrew is the most undemanding person in the world and didn't mean to come across quite so...chauvinistic. We've been joking about it ever since. 

"Wife, clean my frying pan!" was tossed out, followed up by, "Wife no clean frying pan! Wife take nap!" (Thank you, Peter Pan (the girls watched it on Sunday as part of their "Post Peter Pan Party" so it was fresh in our minds)).

We also have been tacking it onto the end of pretty much anything we ask each other to do, for example:

"Could you get me a glass of water, please?"

"Sure; should I wash the griddle, too?"

It's one of those moments that will live on in infamy...at least in our home.

But the strangest of all were the people who lived in...

...our house. Probably. The strangest of all were the people who lived in...

I was reading to the girls tonight, each tucked up into a ball and cuddled into either side of me, just as they were meant to be, while the Benjaboy listened in, practicing his standing while slapping my legs with his chubby baby fingers.

"These houses were quite small," I read, "the biggest of them reaching only as high as Dorothy's waist. There were also pretty little barns, with china fences around them. Many cows and sheep and horses and pigs and chickens, all made of china, were standing about in groups.

"But the strangest of all were the people who lived in..." I paused to turn the page—since our story was interrupted by a full-colour illustration on the next page—and found, to everyone's dismay, a new chapter heading.

Huh.

I quickly skimmed through that page and then flipped to the next.

"This forest is perfectly delightful," declared the Lion, looking around him with joy. "Never have I seen a more beautiful place." Page turn. for us to go any other way except due South."

Oh, no.

We skipped from page 182 to 190 and back to 184. Fortunately 190 was repeated, but in its proper location, eight pages down the road, but page 183 was no where to be found. With bedtime looming over our heads I made the split second decision to truncate an entire page of a childhood classic.

Miriam was already so distracted by the illustration because it was of Dorothy melting the Wicked Witch of the West (which happened over the course of pages 122–123) and she wanted to know why that picture was there. Was the witch back? That would be rather troublesome because Dorothy melted her (and she didn't say "Oh, what a world!" but instead "Look out—here I go!" (this book is nothing like the movie (silver slippers? Our iconic ruby slippers were invented to show off colour television) and both Rachel and Miriam have been a little conflicted about that).

"But the strangest of all were the people who lived in this place," I told the girls after we quelled Miriam's fears about Witches regenerating after being melted by buckets of water. "We need to head South."

We finished reading the chapter and put the kids to bed. And then I hopped online and headed over to Project Gutenberg to find out what happened on page 183. I threw it into InDesign and did a little guesswork on fonts and things but Andrew caught me fudging through the process and insisted that if we were going to create an addendum at all we'd be doing it right, crop marks and all.

So, in case you were wondering...

Just another manic Thursday

Strawberry picking must simply be a bigger thing down here than it is other places. Never have I ever had so many people ask me about whether or not I'd gone strawberry picking before in all my life. It's like the thing to do in the spring. Benjamin's participating in a dental study at the doctor's office and he had his first appointment today. The doctor we saw asked us straight out if we'd gone berry picking, just threw it into her smalltalk.

"Have you gone to pick strawberries yet?" she asked, as if it was our right—even our duty—to do so.

Fortunately, we went yesterday so we were able to rave about the strawberries with firsthand experience.

The appointment was easy (and we earned $50). We just had to fill out a survey about Benjamin's teeth and brushing habits. He had a short examination, got a little toothbrush to take home, and we were done (until our next appointment, approximately 18 months from now). The only thing Benjamin wouldn't do is let them look at his tongue. We did everything we could to convince him to stick it out, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't say, "Lalala," which is one of his favourite things to do (he sticks his tongue way out to say it). He wouldn't make rude noises with his tongue (another of his favourite past times). He just plain wouldn't stick out his tongue.

I noticed the chart they had sitting out and asked if they were trying to see if his tongue was loose or whether he was in need of a lingual frenectomy. They said that was exactly what they were looking for so I informed them that he had been tongue-tied but had already had his frenulum snipped. They'll still need to get a look at his tongue (for the study) but said that they'll have more opportunities to see it (when he's older and more cooperative (or uncooperative, depending on how you look at it) about sticking out his tongue).

His teeth look great, show no sign of decay, but, oh! that labial frenulum!

Apparently it's not unusual for these frenulum problems to go hand in hand. Since Benjamin was so tongue-tied it was no surprise (to the doctor) that he was also lip-tied (or whatever it's called when you have an over-achieving labial frenulum). She said to watch that area carefully (ie. avoid running the toothbrush over his frenulum) because there are a ton of nerves and blood vessels in the frenulum so it's a sensitive area of his mouth. We'll likely have to get it cut someday (if we can't "arrange" a "happy" accident like we did for Rachel last year (her friend Michael had an accidental frenectomy at the park just a while ago, too (walked too close to the swingset—BAM! Free frenectomy. Just like that)). Those methods are so messy and painful, though (and sometimes, as in Rachel's case, the recipient doesn't even need a frenectomy)).*

Up until last February I wasn't even sure what a frenulum was, but look at me, look at me, look at me now! It's fun to use the word frenulum when you know how!

Having children is so educational.

Strawberry fields forever

Strawberry season (which is much better than spider season) is here and the fields have been calling our name, so we picked Rachel up after school and headed for the hills (since there aren't any strawberry fields to speak of within city limits). The girls were excited to go on an adventure.

We went to Lyon Farms, over in Creedmor, mostly because we inherited some Lyon Farms baskets from some friends who will be moving soon. We have to cross Falls Lake to get from Durham to Creedmor (or anything else on the other side) and it makes us laugh every time because once when we were young and naive and knew next to nothing about Washington, DC, some friends of ours were discussing Falls Church.

We were pretty sure they said "False Church" until the last couple of years when we realized it was Falls, not False. But you can go around calling it False Church for years and no one will notice. We call Falls Lake False Lake just to laugh at ourselves.

Anyway, Lyon Farms was a cute place with a flair for originality.

Around the house

Benjamin enjoys pulling himself up on anything he can get his hands on. He still goes about it in the most awkward fashion. The splits are this boy's best friend.

He was clinging to the dishwasher for dear life and looking mighty uncomfortable...

...so I helped him step his feet a little closer together. He was so excited.

He's been so goopy lately—his eyes and nose are constantly oozing. When he wakes up in the morning I have to clean his eyes before he can even open them. They're not too bad during the day, though, and he doesn't have a fever and hasn't been complaining, so I guess we'll just keep cleaning his eyes throughout the day and night until it gets better (or worse).

Miriam took five million years to put away the dishes today. She was supposed to finish before her friend Claire came over to play but didn't so Claire stood in the kitchen and watched Miriam work while they told each other all the names of their siblings and exchanged meal ideas.

"I had spiral macaroni and cheese for lunch!" Miriam exclaimed.

"I didn't," Claire said. "The only thing we have in our house is just rice and beans. But I have two sisters."

"Oh," said Miriam. "I only have one."

Their conversations are hilarious (that means funny—and it's one of Miriam's new favourite words, only she thinks it starts with an L and says el-larious, as in "That's L-arious."). After Miriam finished putting away the dishes they played with play dough.

I asked Claire if she would smile for me but she told me that she could not.

Benjamin went down for a nap today and slept the whole time Claire was over. He was still asleep when it was time to pick Rachel up for school (we went on a family adventure today) so we had to wake him up. After we got home this evening he fell asleep nursing (which is getting more and more unusual) but woke up in time for dinner. He even went to be before 10 o'clock. He's having a rather unusual day.



In addition to pulling up on things, Benjamin's army crawl is morphing (ever slowly) into a true crawl and he can now get from his tummy into a seated position (though he's often content to make it into a kneeling position). He's up and down and go, go, go all day long.



His favourite activities include forcing the printer to print test pages, pulling all the shoes off the shoe shelf, eating, and trying to get outside.

We've been spending a lot of time outside lately, trying to get our yard up and running. We built an official place to keep our garbage cans (since they've been sitting in the middle of our lawn) and we really like it. It tided the yard up so much just having those can out of sight.

While we were making it, Miriam kept trying to show me these green spiders she was seeing all over the place. I told her that spiders aren't usually green...but I was wrong. We have green spiders all over our yard. I'm not sure what they are. I don't think they're green lynx spiders but they might be some sort of orb spider (doesn't that web look orbish?). They're pretty little, and rather green.

It looks like spider season is upon us. We've already found some freakishly huge spiders lurking in our yard. I try to tell myself that they're good for the garden but still find them shudder-worthy. 

I had fun at school. I love school. School is good for you.

Rachel was kind of on one today after school. She came off the bus smiling, ditched her backpack by Benjamin (who was outside in the bouncer watching Andrew, Miriam, and me do some work in the garden) and started a game with Miriam. Andrew headed off to help a new family move in and I started taking the laundry off the line, leaving all the clothespins in a pile for the girls to pick up.

I had asked them to pick the clothespins up yesterday when I took the laundry down but they both gave excuses and ran into the house where they sat at the table while dinner got cold and I finished taking down the laundry and picking up the clothespins. I reminded the girls of that today—that I'd asked them for help and they'd told me no and later regretted it—so they said they'd do it. But then they started fighting about it. Who would hold the bag open? Who would pick up the pins? Why did they have to do it at all? Was it even fair? Why didn't I just do it myself? Why were clothespins even invented?

Since picking up clothespins is one of the easiest jobs on the planet, I told the girls that they could work out the answers to all those questions while they picked up the clothespins and that they weren't allowed inside until all the clothespins were picked up.

That one little chore totally ruined Rachel's day. (Miriam got in a bit of a snit but quickly got back out of it).

"Work, work, work!" Rachel complained when I finally let them back in the house. It took them almost forty-five minutes to clean up the clothespins because they got sweaty and decided they should fill the watering can up and then dump it on each other's heads. When I nipped that idea in the bud, they decided they needed to fold paper fans to cool themselves off. I told them they were wasting oodles of time but gave them the go ahead (and the paper (because they weren't allowed inside)). They took so long to clean up the clothespins that Miriam even had to come inside for a potty break (before being ushered back outside to finish the job).

Seriously. I mean, I sorted the clothes, washed the clothes, hung the clothes out to dry, took them off the line and folded them and my girls can't even pick up a pile of clothespins? Come on.

Anyway, Rachel was all in a tizzy over having to work. They never work at school—they just get to have fun all day long.

"That's great!" I told Rachel. "That means you should be ready to buckle down and get to work when you get home."

Moonboots: ballad means a festival

As we were walking from the van to the church building on Sunday morning Rachel asked me a question. I don't remember what it was but I do remember my answer.

"That's a valid choice," I told her.

"What does valid mean?" she asked me.

"Valid means acceptable," I explained.

Andrew, who had been gathering up the rest of our stuff and locking the van (or who might take after his father more than he'd care to admit) caught up to us and tried to join our conversation.

"A ballad is a song," he corrected, "Not a festival."

Rachel and I both turned to look at him.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him.

"Rachel said, 'What does ballad mean?' and then you said, 'Ballad means a festival,' but a ballad is a song, not a festival," he recapped.

"I know what a ballad is," I assured him.

"Then what were you talking about?" he asked.

"She asked me what valid meant and I told her it meant acceptable."

"Oh," said Andrew, nodding his head in agreement.

Our entire family has been laughing about this all week. I suppose that's a festival acceptable.

Peter Pan 2013

Phew! Peter Pan is finished!

The end of a show always elicits such mixed emotions from me. On the one hand—huzzah for no more rehearsals, no more late nights, no more panic about fundraising or being late or running tights. On the other hand—no more thrill, no more anticipation, no more friendship-forming/costume-building pow-wows in the lobby. I'm sure the girls will continue to play Peter Pan and Flower Fairies for some time to come. Just this morning they turned their bunk bed into a theatre and dangled stuffed animals from the top bunk after tying ribbons to their limbs. The stuffed animals were "doing aerial dancing!" It was pretty cute.

Anyway, here are a few pictures from the dress rehearsal on Thursday night.

Dress Rehearsal

Last night the girls had a dress rehearsal at the Carolina Theater, which they were very excited for. The strangest part was that we just dropped them off and then had nothing to do. It was the weirdest feeling because the past few months have been such a frenzy of costume-making. We'd walk into the theater and be bombarded with yarn and fabric and scissors and glue. Even just on Thursday night we were all slaving away, trying to finish the Nana costume.

But last night we just dropped them off. We were instructed to be back to pick them up by 7:30, when hopefully they'd be finished. So we left.

We stood outside on the sidewalk puzzling over what to do with two hours free from children (except Benjamin, who was strapped to me...like always).

"We could go on a date," I suggested.

"I'm hungry," Andrew said. "Let's go out for dinner."

"Where should we go?" I asked.

We stood on the sidewalk and puzzled over that some more. The theater is right downtown. There are dozens of upscale (when compared to McDonald's) restaurants to try but we didn't even know where to begin, nor how much we wanted to spend. We don't have an eating-out category in our budget because we don't usually do it. After walking around downtown hand in hand (because we weren't wrangling children) and surveying a few menus, we settled on around $20 and found a cute pizza place called Pop's Trattoria. We're suckers for Italian food (especially Andrew).

They open at 5:30 and we arrived at 5:40, walked right in, and asked for a table for two.

"Do you have reservations?" the hostess asked.

"Do we need one?" Andrew asked.

"No," she said, looking through her book. "Do you want a window seat or would you rather sit in the dining room."

We opted for a window seat, even though the tables were abnormally high for dining.

"It's okay," the hostess assured us. "I can just stack a couple of high chairs for him to sit on. You can pick any table you'd like!"

We found our table and sat down to look at the menus. Their wood oven-fired pizzas are $10 a piece so we thought we'd each get one. That's how we survived our honeymoon—we'd find the cheapest pizza joint we could and then we'd each order a margherita pizza since that's typically the cheapest thing on the menu. It's somewhat normal to eat a whole pizza in Italy, according to Andrew (and my observations). Andrew asked the waiter for two pizzas, but then I went and asked how big the pizzas were.

"They're pretty big," he said. "There's no way each of you are going to eat a whole one. But half of one might not be quite enough. I'd recommend getting a pizza to split and then a salad or something as well."

So that's what we did. And it was good, though I'm pretty positive we each could have eaten a whole pizza.

We had bread while we waited, which was good. They gave us a dish of olive oil...but no vinegar. Sad day. Andrew still did a lot of dipping, but I didn't.

We also had a nice view of the bar but only realized that we were sitting in the bar when one of the owners/managers stopped by to ask Benjamin how he was enjoying sitting at the bar.

This week

Just as I suspected, this week is being gobbled up with ballet, but we've done some other things, too. On Sunday, for example, Miriam did my hair (after church).

Here's the front:

And here's the back: