You yellow bastards! Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite your legs off!


Tomorrow, our dear Izzi will move on to new pastures. Pastures where they may or may not kill her. She reiterated today, for the 4th time, in case we had missed it the first three times, that her bark is not quite as loud as her bite. They may be little, cute teeth, but not many random passers-by are too keen on having them embedded into their calves. So it's off the the pound for her.

My heart is broken. As if it wasn't ripping in two already.

Peace out, little sister. We'll miss you.


Out of the blue, my old friend came over last night. She NEVER comes over. I cried on her shoulder about this, and after an hour or so visit she and Izzi fell truly, madly, deeply in love and Izzi has a new home way out of town, away from the things of man, with Hannah and her family.

God bless Hannah. They are a perfect fit, those two. I can't believe I didn't think of it before.

memorial day weekend in pictures

Well, we really didn't do much. Except on Sunday, when we said goodbye to our entire family in Denver. Which sucked really, really bad. How will T live without this...




or B without this?


Monday, my dear friend set up shop at the Boulder Creek Arts Festival. I'd link you to her ridiculously beautiful jewelry line, but everyone in her family has had a blog at some point and no one has yet linked to her, so I'm guessing I shouldn't either. Just take my word for it, the girl's a genius. Anyway, we headed up that way on Monday afternoon to pay her a visit...



(pretty and talented. Some girls have it all.) And of course we had to go jump in the creek after that...





We followed that up with a little rock-climbing...



We met a pregnant woman and suggested names for her baby which we thinks she really liked, I enjoyed being able to nurse the baby in public, 'cause you see, Boulder's COOL like that (sadly, no pictures for you of that!) and then we were off for home.

The wedding I have been working on was Monday night. It was beautiful and a lot of work. I spent the night calming down uncles, checking for people sneaking booze outside, washing dishes and cutting cake. My old boss was helping me cut the cake, which by the way was the prettiest cake I have ever seen, and I made the mistake of saying to him that this whole cutting cake with him thing felt a good bit like we'd just gotten hitched. He tenderly put an arm around my shoulder and said "oh honey, if we'd just been married it would feel more like this"...

And that's when he smashed a great big slice of the black and white wedding cake into my face. Jerk. So, blah blah blah, the reception ended, we ran next door for late night happy hour and then my old boss/cake-smasher and I headed over to Nallen's, the world's best pub, where we drank a lot of Smithwick's and even more whiskey until they kicked us out. Not a bad holiday.

How was yours?

embarrasing confessions #'s 852 & 853

#852: my favorite fraction is 3/7. Not as embarrasing as the fact that I have a favorite fraction itself, really.

#853: I have a thing for guys with lisps. Not horribly outrageous ones, just a nice subtle th thing. A, " but only sthlightly lessth well-known is thisth: never go in againstht a Sthicthilian when death isth on the line! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" kind of lisp.

company, or crowd?

Is three kids considered a lot of kids? I never have thought it was, but I am getting the impression that I may be wrong about that. I mean, my dad had 10 kids and he didn't seem to think that was too many (although he did manage to abandon all 10 at some point and only paid minimal child support for 4 of them, and I suppose the welfare departments in Philadelphia and Delaware thought that 10 of his bastard children on welfare and Medicaid and free school lunch was an awful lot), and if you sit back and look at this rationally, the odds are in my favor of having slightly more children. You see, I have been participating in baby-making activities for 12 years, 4 months, 12 days and about 2 1/2 hours (yes, I know the date. And time. I was not drunk and I happened to start off with a boy who I liked quite a bit and who had recently put a surprisingly large diamond on my finger, so back off.) I spent a good deal of my early twenties doing little else, to be perfectly honest, and was not always willing to be bothered with such silly things as birth control (let me state again that my father had ten children. Birth control was not something he instilled the need for in us.) So statistically, after 12 plus years of doing what the lord intended us to do, most of that with a startling carelessness, I think that only making three children is reasonable. Perfectly acceptable, really. Admirable, I dare say.

So why is it that when I was talking to the travel coordinator about my move she felt the need to say, "Well, it's a good thing for you that the movers are packing all of your things for you, what with all those kids you have."

changing of the guard

Today was the last day of school. I would have cute graduation pictures from the kindergarten ceremony, but I think I threw my camera away this morning in the scramble to get the trash into the alley before it got picked up and the graduation caps for 50 kids and the antipasto skewers I made for the teachers' luncheon and the programs for the graduation and the graduate and his brother and screaming sister out the door on time and looking like we'd all bathed sometime this decade. I did take 10 minutes in between the 2nd grade author's celebration (adorable stories to be scanned in and posted soon) and the pinning of the paper caps to little nappy heads of hair to run to the corner grocery and buy a disposable camera, and although it was an outdoor camera I'll bet upon developing I will have at least one good shot of my little kindergartener-no-more to share with you.

It's been quite a day. I cried, though probably not for the reasons you think. Yes, the kid was cute in his little Nordstrom button down and tie, and yes he is all grown up, but I held it totally together until school let out and all the kids were gone home. I had to go back in the school for something or the other and I stood in the middle of the hallway and I realized all at once that I no longer had keys to the school. I had handed them over to the (very cool, Molly) mom who replaced me on the PTA. The halls were empty, my kids were gone, and just like that we were no longer part of that school. It made me cry. I have spent three years of my life trying to be a voice for these kids, a helper to their parents and their teachers, trying to make a difference in their lives. I think I did. I surely feel like I did. But now someone else will take my place, B's friends will move on without him, T's friends will probably forget his name come first grade. It makes me sad. We were a really good fit there. We made some amazing friends, my kids had a few extraordinary teachers and we have enough memories to get us through quite a while. But I'm still sitting here sad to the core.

We had better really, really like Vancouver.