I Need Some Gills

It's muggy at midnight.
--They say 93% humid.

Don't I believe it.

Lights catch on the droplets, make it look like rain, but I know better.
My head is a ball of frizz.  It's out of control.
Pillow's damp, sheets are damp, wall is damp, carpet -- yep, damp.
I can't get comfortable.
The air's so thick, my lungs are struggling.
We seem to be living in a cloud.  Very warm cloud.  Warm and sticky.
I'm slightly worried about drowning.

It's muggy at midnight and I can't sleep.

Boys, Books, and My Heart Swooning

 

My boys look forward to this time spent together each evening, cozy in P.J.s on somebody's bed with a few stories.  My sons love a good bed-story.  They love books any way they come, but when it's loud reading time, especially with PTB, they are in heaven. 

And who could blame them?  Their dad is amazing.  

He is the object of some of their deepest affection.  He is the object of my very deepest affection.  One of my favorite things about him is the way he plays with and teaches and leads my little boys.

He sure is a wonderful dad.

P.S.  Bed-story and Loud Reading Time are both phrases coined by the Nolanmeister.

Nolan's Kitty

A rhyme.

Cinderoo 

My Russian Blue

You're fuzzily sweet

I really love you

(and if I had to guess, I'd say you love me too)

(She kisses his nose.  How endearing is that??)

About Ducks

Soooo.......... here's the story on my foster care experience and the after-effects.

two days old by the glow of their infrared lamp

My parents gathered their two little chicks (who happen to be my sisters) and left for Hawaii.  I agreed to stay in New York and take care of their horse and four and a half cats.  I mean, Hawaii sounds good, but what could be better than taking care of a horse three times a day for two weeks?  I couldn't pass up the chance, so I graciously relinquished any rights to a family jaunt in the tropics.  Besides, apparently when you get married, you start a new family and get kicked out of the old one.  (Only to be called back occasionally for things like horse-care.)

To prepare for their absence from The Horse, my mom stopped at Agway to pick up enough horse things to keep him and his caretaker happy.  This Agway run happened 36 hours before their scheduled flight out of New York.

From Agway, that Thursday afternoon, I got a call from my mom.

"Would you like some ducks?"  
Ummm, sure.  What kind of question is that?

She explained enough so that I understood --I wouldn't actually have ducks, just be responsible for them for the duration of the Hawaiian Vacation (along with the horse and four and a half cats.)

"But if you want any, they're just $4 a duck and you have to get at least six."
I think I'll hold off.  Besides, I really want chickens.

It turns out that the ducks were still in their eggs, so we waited a day.  Friday night, our kitchen was red and peeping confusedly.  The newly hatched ducks easily fit in our recycle bin, with an infrared heat lamp clamped to the side, wood shavings for bedding, water and food dishes, and plenty of room to run around.   My instructions were to keep the light on and dishes full.  That seemed easy enough, maybe even enjoyable.  They smelled good.  They were downy and cute.  And they were lookin' to call me "mom".

I woke up to peeping Saturday morning.  Those ducks, barely 12 hours old, had grown!  I'm not kidding.  They had noticeably increased in size in just one night!  I was shocked and quickly realizing why my mom had left me with a cardboard box the size of my bedroom (which I had impetuously disposed of in the middle of the garage the night before).  I started making calculations, trying to figure out where to put that huge box, because I knew my recycle bin was not going to be sufficient space within the next few days.

By the following Friday, one week past hatch-day, those six ducks had doubled in size.  No joke.  Doubled.

I fed and watered them twice a day and changed their bedding every two or three days.  My boys liked to visit them.  I liked to pick one up sometimes and sing it sweet melodies.  But for the most part, we kept to our own business.  I was busy doing whatever I do.  They were busy growing.

 I had envisioned the end of my fostering to be marked by six ducklings happily following me around, calling me "mom", being cuddly, friendly, cute, small... or something. Get the picture?  Instead, my fostering was nearing the end and the ducks were skiddish around all non-duck creatures, their size had almost doubled a second time, they smelled --even with a frequent bedding change, and they were showing signs of feathers (borderline unattractive).

I learned that a day in the life of a duckling is like four human years.  So if you spend fifteen minutes twice a day with a duckling, you're the kind of parent who visits once a year and brings treats.  Trust me, that doesn't cut it.  Basically, if you really want a duck to call you "mom", you'd better find a way to be with them constantly.  And maybe I shouldn't joke about singing them sweet melodies.  Next time, I may actually try it.  Although next time I'm getting chickens.

3.5 weeks old: making friends with Cinderoo

Ob-Scene

Nolan likes a vivid scene drawn across his underwear.  The Incredible Hulk, Lightning McQueen, Nemo, Power Rangers --they're all quite pleasing to the little man.  Those vibrant pictures cause him to consistently wear his underwear backwards.  (The bigger scene is generally on the back and he would like to see it.)

He has innumerable underwear with pictures and only one blue pair without.  Just one scene-less underwear.

It doesn't get worn.

Except this morning, I mistakenly grabbed the plain blue.  Nolan gave me a funny look when I presented it to him.  No words, but his eyes inescapably said, You've got to be kidding me.  I handed them to him anyway, my eyes inescapably saying, Wear them.  I chuckled at the forlorn look on his face.  (They're nice blue underwear, I swear!)

Are you feeling blue today?  I asked.

No.  I'm feeling pictures.

Giving Thanks

In prayer, Nolan never asks for anything.  His communications with Diety are founded in thanks and only thanks.  I think I could take a lesson.  Sometimes however, his form of gratitude cracks me up.  Not only does he include every toy, activity, game, person, or speck that has ever made him happy, he frequently gives thanks for things that haven't happened yet as if they've already happened.   For example, when the weather started to change to Summer, he would thank God that "Momma filled up my pool" --even though I hadn't even thought of it yet.  And last week while I was very sick,  Nolan would kneel in prayer and thank his Heavenly Father for making me better --even though I was still laying on my near-death bed,.  And then last night, Nolan said our prayer over dinner (which I don't recommend letting him do if you're hungry).  One mention in his laundry list of thanks was, "And thank you that Grandma Mitchell coming to visit us" --even though there are no plans in the making for a visit.

Is this wishful thinking or faith in its purest form?

Pook the Goggle Man

There is plenty of laughter in my house because of this little Pook.
I adore him.
I can't get enough of him.
I kiss him all the time.

birthday in the tropics

To celebrate an advance in my age (though I find little reason to celebrate my advancing age) 

... I went to Hawai'i.

Except I didn't travel.  

My family brought it to me (they love me that much).

A backyard birthday luau, complete with grass-skirt-dancing on the beach.

Food by Mom and Dad.  Decorations by the Sisters.