Contrary to appearances, we are not giving away our youngest son (and all his toys, to boot). The neighbors put out this shelving unit and we thought it might be just the thing to replace our sagging makeshift TV stand. We stand corrected. What it is JUST THE THING for is setting up a shop, of course. What were we thinking? The Legos and Wedgits are being offered in lots ranging from “small pile” to “big pile” to “treasure.” When business is slow, you can fold yourself into your house and take a nap.
TV stand. ::snort:: What nonsense adults come up with sometimes.
Remember that time Rilla thought the phrase “into the thick of it” was “into the thicklebit”? And I loved it so much I threatened to rename this blog after it? Well, we’ve decided to go one better. Voila…Into the Thicklebit, a webcomic cowritten by Scott and me, and illustrated by the impossibly brilliant Chris Gugliotti. We hope you’ll enjoy it. You may recognize some Bonny Glen moments here and there. (Hair color has been changed to protect the obstreperous.) 😉
I’ll add a button to the sidebar after SDCC madness is over. We’re aiming for new strips twice a week, when time permits. Tomorrow’s is one of my favorites. (And 100% true.)
I shared this photo on Facebook—a cellphone shot captured at the park yesterday. Because my phone’s camera is middling, and because in the bright sun I can barely see my screen at all, and because I used an Instagram filter that looked nice on the small phone screen but appears excessively washed out in the larger view, this is not nearly as good a photo as it might have been. But it captured a happy moment in a lovely place, and I’m glad I caught it.
But the best thing about the picture is this: after I’d sent it to Facebook, I got a note from my friend Asako. My photo had appeared in her news feed immediately above this one.
She couldn’t help but giggle. Me, I guffawed.
*I wish I knew the origin of the second image so I could properly credit. If it find it, I’ll add it here.
UPDATE: Peter in the comments found the image on a t-shirt at Buck Wear Inc.
I shared this story in the comments on Sarah’s lovely blog…it’s so funny I can’t resist telling it here too. Several years ago, when we lived in Virginia and my oldest child was about 8 or 9, I took the kids to a living history museum (the ten-awesome Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton, VA, which you do NOT want to miss if you’re in the area). That was the first of many happy visits, and a glorious spring day it was: new lambs for the holding, amiable cottage cat jumping into our stroller, Jemima Puddleduck and friends pit-pat-paddle-patting their way along the dirt paths. My three oldest girls were in heaven. The costumed interpreters were extremely nice, allowing the girls to try a spinning wheel (I was writing Charlotte and Martha in those days, and all we had at home was a drop spindle, so the wheel was a grand treat for my little home-based critique group) and answering their zillions of questions.
As we left one of the houses—I think it was the Irish cottage, which thrilled us all with its thatched roof and smoky fire, just like the huts in the Martha books—the interpreter murmured an aside to me as the girls skipped down the path.
“Are they homeschooled?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“Yes!” I replied, delighted, basking in the thought that their eager, intelligent conversation had given them away.
“I thought so,” replied the interpreter. “I could tell from the bonnets.”
Um.
This was the year my girls wore their Little House bonnets everywhere—their own doing, I swear! By then I was so used to seeing them that I hardly even noticed them anymore.
During the long months of this pregnancy, I have been blessed with the companionship of a few special friends. We used to see each other only once a month, but lately we’ve been able to get together once or even twice a week, and how eagerly I have looked forward to these sweet moments of fellowship with women whose joy in motherhood outstrips even my own!
I realized today that our time together is drawing to a close…very soon (very, very soon, do you hear me?) it will be time to go our separate ways, and we shall see each other only once a year or thereabouts. Ah, dear friends, whatever will I do without you? Fortunately I happened to have my camera in my bag at our visit today, so I was able to capture a few treasured snapshots of these fair and tender ladies I have come to know so well.
Here they are all together with their precious infants, the whole beautiful bunch of them. Aren’t they lovely?
So serene, so gentle, so rouged.
I have learned so much from these ladies. For example, here I am about to give birth to my sixth child, and yet until I met Angelica would you believe I had no idea it was advisable to blow-dry one’s hair to a silky sheen, tie back a few glossy locks with a ribbon, don a ruffly off-the-shoulder gown, and apply several coats of blusher before sitting down to breastfeed one’s baby?
This is going to make a real difference in my next post-partum experience, let me tell you. Angelica always looks so calm and well rested. I realize now that my customary get-up of hastily scrunchied ponytail, spit-up-stained T-shirt, and no makeup whatsoever has been at the root of the exhaustion I typically experience during those first weeks with a new baby. LOOK beautiful and you’ll FEEL beautiful is Angelica’s motto.
Elspeth has a similar philosophy about pregnancy. I understand now that in banning white clothing from my wardrobe several sticky-fingered toddlers ago, I have been depriving myself of a kind of delicate radiance that would surely have blessed the child in my womb and all in our presence. And that band of pink ribbon below her bosom—how beautifully it offsets her the rosy glow of her lips. Every word that comes out of a mouth like that is pure honey, I suspect. (I can’t say for sure, because demure Elspeth never utters a word. But you can see just by looking at her that she is full of warm and soothing thoughts.)
As for our ringleted chum Swoozie, I admit I worry a little about her sometimes. Those raw bruises on her cheek…the dark rings around her eyes…her habit of staring off into the distance, lost in thought, absently feeding her infant without even looking at him…I have some concerns about her home life. But she has never uttered a word of complaint, so perhaps I’m mistaken. Possibly she is only thinking about when to get her next perm.
Oh, dear friends, how grateful I am for the many times you have entertained me while I waited for our obstetrician to amble into the exam room! It is very good of you, all of you, to have kept such a patient vigil with me as the long, long minutes ticked by.
September 17, 2007 @ 12:52 pm | Filed under: Funny
Rilla is playing with the toy phone. Wonderboy wants it.
WB: I have pone?
Rilla: Nuh.
WB: Gib pone!
Rilla: Nuh. NUH!!
WB (offers remote control in exchange): You hab?
Rilla: Nuh.
A brief silence. Wonderboy is deflated. Then, for no visible reason, Rilla holds out the phone to her brother. Mom, coaching Wonderboy: That was so nice! She gave you the phone. What do you say?
My poor deprived children. No wonder they had to fight over it! Ha.
I also greatly enjoyed your stories about stupid kid fights that have taken place under your roof. The brothers fighting over who got to wear the garbage can on his head is a classic!
Anyone else got a Kids Fight Over the Most Ridiculous Things story? Send ’em my way!
