Work/Play

When we played outside yesterday, the only thing the boys wanted to do was repeatedly dig their equipment out of the snow. While normal children were building snowmen or sledding, mine were reporting "Cactuh stuck! Need foh-wheelah!" to each other. Then they would shovel for a minute, pretend to pull it out, drive two feet, and call "Foh-wheelah stuck! Need cactuh!" Lather, rinse, repeat omg.

I get that they mimic this work because they have seen this scenario played out a lot, and I am grateful that they did not include the foul language that is occasionally part of Matt and my's script. I hope that they still think it is a Family Fun Activity when they are big enough to really man the shovels.

Mundane

Beans!

I'm not sure what Ethan is leaning down to get. There is no way he's reaching for a fallen bean, because apparently some property of the floor immediately turns them invisible to folks with the XY chromosome. And honestly Evan is not doped up on cough syrup or anything, perhaps just awed by my magnificence?

Writer's block

Hello, dear neglected blog reader(s)! How have you been? We are all just super, not that you would know by the radio silence here. While the rest of you are creating clever lists and more clever lists, taking fabulous photographs, and regaling us with tales of your adorable children, this 'create post' tab sits haunting me.

The thing is, (and it makes me nervous to even think this, let alone write it) is that it's just really peaceful around here lately. The kids play together for hours at a time, with only the occasional cry for help. I've cleaned closets, caught up on documentation, and even organized the laundry room. I haven't had to drive a tractor across the floor in weeks! (I'll pause while you break into a chorus of glory, glory, hallelujah. Oh, just me? OK then.)

Manic highs and despairing lows lend themselves much better to entertaining writing. This emotional-even-keel stuff is just boring. So, sorry! Well, not really, because have I mentioned that I have not had to drive a tractor across the floor in weeks? And by the way, I had to read through a lot of old posts to find that link- the ratio of despair to bliss is like 195:1. Sheesh, what a whiner.

Make Way For (manipulative little) Ducklings

Ethan stood in front of me this evening before heading up to bed. "Mom, I want to be like Mr. Mallard and Mrs. Mallard," he stated quietly.
"How do you want to be like Mr. & Mrs. Mallard?" I asked.
"Have another supper, better than the first," he replied.

OK, so yes, we had already had supper, a snack, and brushed our teeth, but I can't argue with classic literary references. We shared one more bagel, which we fortunately didn't have to get by following a swan boat across a muddy lake.

Valentines

Around here, the preferred way to celebrate Valentine's Day -like all other holidays and random Tuesdays- is with glitter, sprinkles, and more glitter.

My parents were here to celebrate the festivities with us, as were the two little calves in the gift bags they brought. "Cows! Eat!"
I could not ask for sweeter valentines than these two guys and the rest of my wonderful family. I hope the rest of you feel as surrounded by love as we are.

Brothers

The boys and I ran errands this morning. Evan wore his pajama top, jeans, one yellow boot, and one green boot. Rockin'. They were pretty well-behaved: didn't knock over any displays, no one darted into traffic, and they shared their toys in the car. Then on the way home Ethan announced "I am throwing snowballs at Evan." He flailed his arm like Buddy the Elf and laughed hysterically. "No NO NO!" Evan screeched, frantically wiping his face. "OK, Ethan," I tried to keep a straight face, "Evan doesn't think that's fun. Please stop throwing snowballs at him." "But I have a PILE," Ethan said, arm still windmilling wildly. I suggested that he throw them out his window. "I am throwing them out Evan's window, at the trees!" he said gleefully. "AAAAH! NO NO NO!" Evan yelled, batting away the invisible snowballs. "NO! TOO COLD!"

Umm, hurray for active imaginations.