Happy Birthday to Me and My Sister, Jennifer...

Hey, did I tell you I went to Maine last weekend?

I didn't? Silly me.

For my birthday, Will sent me to Maine to celebrate my older sister's birthday. We share the fabulous birthday month, September.

I made the flight out with out throwing up all over the plane--yay for me! Last time I flew home, I picked the cheapest flight with "no layovers". I should have been suspicious when the flight time was over ten hours. What "no layovers" meant was that the plane made five stops across the country and I never got off the plane. They unloaded and loaded the other cattle and we were off. The result, by the third stop I was sweating like a sinner in church and barfing like a frat boy. It was horrible. I had to pull my hair around my face for some privacy while I barfed up every thing I ever ate in my entire life. Sad, sad, sad story.

It was so lovely to see my sisters for the weekend. I was only there for a couple of days but they were fabulous days! We did some antiquing, we went to my home town's Apple Festival, we had a wicked birthday party for my sister and we went to the beach--wonderful! Here, mostly just to put a smile on my own face, are the pictures and a quick re-cap of the trip.

Antiquing in Maine can mean looking at cheap junk, expensive junk or fine collectibles (really old junk).

Look at that picture up there. Can you see what is hanging from the ceiling? That's right, a cork screw ice pick, a three pronged whale hook, a post digger and variety of pots and pans. Don't accidentally bump into any thing here and certainly don't trip into the barrel of newly sharpened awls.

This is my just-a-little-older sister, Camie. We were in the same grade in school and got married a few months apart. She is ballsy and anxiety prone--a combination that is hard to find. When we were in the second grade she told some kids at the lunch table that white bread was made with spit. A story I think we invented at home because my Mother never, ever, ever bought white bread--she made her own whole wheat bread. Anyway, Camie even pointed to the flour spots on the bottom of a piece of bread saying "See, that's the spit." Well, this didn't go over well with the white-bread eating student body. One little girl went and told a teacher, Mrs. Farrington. When the girl came back to tell Camie that Mrs. Farrington said there wasn't any spit in white bread--Camie said "Well, Mrs. Farrington is an old wind bag." "I'm telling Mrs. Farrington!" the antagonist responded.

"I don't care, I'll tell her myself." and with that Camie marched right up to Mrs. Farrington and said "You're an old wind bag!" right to her face! Mrs. Farrington was so stunned, she didn't say a word. Nobody at the lunch table would eat their white bread after that.

**post edit** Now my sister is a grown woman with two darling boys and a crippling fear of highway driving. She can handle being a passenger on the highway (and offers helpful driving tips from the back seat) but give her the opportunity to be the driver on a highway and she breaks out into hives. Highway driving is way too stressful for her. It gives me the giggles every time her fear of the highway comes up. Is this the same girl who was not afraid to tell a teacher off in the second grade?

The second antique store we went into was much nicer. It is every one's favorite antique store. It is in this big old Maine house with three stories of tastefully arranged stuff. It is lovely and was named one of Yankee Magazine's Best Fun-tiquing in 2010.

The evening of the same day we did our little antiquing was Jennifer's birthday party. We ate delicious food, shared beautiful company, laughed about facial hair and stayed up too late. It was a great party!

We went to one of my family's favorite beaches on my last full day in Maine. I was time-warped and so exhausted I couldn't talk. My younger sister took offence...what could I do? The beach was beautiful despite my exhaustion.

Hubba-hubba, look at those hot beach bodies.

We stopped at Dairy Queen on the way home from the beach. I forgot, in Maine, if you want sprinkles on your ice cream you had better call them "jimmies" or you aren't getting any.

I bought gifts home for all of my kids. Adell and Clare got these adorable ballet skirts Jennifer made. Wyatt got a Nerf dart gun and Lorien got a locket I bought at the classy antique store.

I had such a great time. Even if I came home so messed up time-wise it took me a whole week to recover. I wish I could go back more often.

My Heroes...

I got my camera back from the repair shop a few weeks ago and have been spending some time going over the pictures from the beginning of our summer. There is a lot of stuff in there. I don't know if I have the brain space to blog about all of it...

Our new house is a little weird. The weirdest thing (to me) is an indoor-outdoor room right in the middle of the house. We call it the atrium. I don't know what it is for or what we should use it for--but there it is.

When we first moved in there were a couple of very small wasp nests in the atrium.

My brilliant husband and my dutiful son decided they were going to get rid of the nests.

Their plan for wasp nest removal? Shoot the nests down with a Nerf gun and a BB gun. I don't know what the Nerf-ball bat was for? Perhaps Will was going to beat the wasps off of Wyatt with it?

Wyatt found some classy eye protection and those boys got to work.

I got 911 punched into my cell phone, gathered the girls inside and waited for the imminent wasp attack.

Fortunately, this was one of those rare moments where I was wrong (rare, rare, rare). The nests were shot down and no one was stung to death.

Now we have a weird empty room in the middle of the house that we can use (for who knows what) with out fear of wasp attack.

Until the wasps decide to seek revenge for the senseless destruction of their homes.

Any thing you can do, I can do better...

I can do anything better than you.

No, not you, just the mechanic at the Honda dealership.

Yes, him. Anything he can do--I can do better.

Let me start at the beginning. Over a year ago, the battery in our van died. After Will replaced the battery our radio wouldn't turn on. Apparently, as a safety precaution against radio theft, Honda puts codes into all of their vehicles radios. (I am not sure where to put the 's there...vehicle's radio's? High School English class, how I have failed you.) Any time the radio is disconected from the battery you have to enter a secret code to get the radio back on. Since we bought our van used we had no code.

I looked things up on the internet and found out you could get the code with your vehicle's VIN # by calling a dealership. I called the dealership. They told me I would have to bring the van in. I brought the van in. They told me they would charge me a $70 service fee to remove the radio to look and the model number for the radio. I kept my $70 and went home. Back to the internet, there I found directions for removing the control panel on my van and getting the radio out. I called the dealership with the model number. They did not ask for the VIN #, they just gave me the code.

I am feeling pretty proud of myself for taking apart the van on my own. I kid you not, it only took a butter knife and a philips head screwdriver. I am also feeling pretty annoyed at Honda. Anyone could steal my radio and call the dealership with the model number.

Worst. Safety. Feature. Ever.

Scheming...

Wyatt cracked.

About a week ago he casually mentioned he and Lorien had been making some secret plans together. They had almost every thing worked out except for two big problems. When I asked if I could help, he looked be straight in the face (with those baby blue lasers) and said: "Well, you are the problem so I don't think you can help very much!" I thought maybe they were making plans for my birthday and let it go. (Wow, I couldn't have been more wrong.)

Yesterday before soccer practice he broke down and revealed his secret plans.

He and Lorien have been working out a way they can skip school.

His plan to date:

During morning recess--when he still has access to his backpack, water bottle and lunch box--he was going to sneak out of school grounds. He and Lorien would meet up some where and spend a day of leisure walking around town. Their only problems: #1 They need a watch so they know what time to head home. #2 Their Mother, she would skin them alive if she found out.

After Wyatt told me all of this I had a little mental breakdown. I feel a lot of maternal guilt for making him change schools so many times. He is my most emotionally sensitive child and I worry what all of these changes do to him emotionally. While he practiced soccer I hatched plans of my own. Plans of inviting all the boys from school over to play at our house and being the coolest Mom in town. I'd be funny and outgoing. I'd let them eat brownies with chocolate chips and nutella on top. I'd let them play video games and jump on the beds. Those boys would say "Wow, Wyatt must be super cool--look how cool his Mom is!?!"

What does it say about me that I am dreaming of social validation from seven-year-old boys?

Later in the evening I remembered myself in second grade. I remembered standing at the playground fence looking out onto the road. I remembered knowing that road led straight back to my home. I remembered looking to see where the recess teachers were stationed. I remembered thinking "It would be so easy to hop this fence and walk home." Then I remembered spending several recesses hatching plans for my escape. I was at the same school--in the same town--with the same kids--my whole school career.

I decided Wyatt's scheming to escape school was normal...because I am oh so normal and emotionally adjusted.

Just you and me...

The big kids have been in school for a full week now. Moreover, for a full week it has just been me and Adell at home during the day.

So far, our days have gone exactly as I expected. Adell misses her older siblings very much and follows me around like a shadow, demanding I play with her. We dance, we play baby-doll, we take little walks outside, we build with blocks, I eat a lot of plastic-play food and I draw a lot of "happy face" pictures for Adell. I have not had a shower without Adell all week. I love her and we are having a good time--but our family has not eaten a proper dinner since school started. Adell wont let me sit down to write a grocery list--forget about standing in the kitchen to prep and make a meal.

Just now she walked up to me singing (to the tune of "Twinkle, twinkle little star") "Momma, Momma open diss. Momma, Momma open diss." holding a marker. Now I have to go draw some more "happy faces".