Stuff you didn't even know you were wondering about . . . .
Just to bring you up to speed on some of the goings-on I have reported earlier . . . . all of this is totally in random order because that's how my brain works.
1. So -- the oldest girl chose a Homecoming dress:
Although both on this blog and in person most adults voted for either dress #4 . . .
. . . or dress # 6 . . .
. . . she had her heart set on dress #3. In a completely surprising turn of events, her father did NOT have a coronary when he saw a picture of the dress. Instead, he merely commented, "she's not five years old any more, is she?" So -- dress #3 it is. Now, on to shoes and jewelry.
2. In related news, the orthopedist who set her broken wrist thrilled the oldest girl when he informed her that her fresh fiberglass cast can be painted with acrylic paint. She is contemplating either silver, or black with a very tasteful dusting of glitter. So that will totally complete the Homecoming ensemble. [Terrible photo due to the whip-fast hands of the quasi-sexy doctor. Little crush here -- just being honest.]
3. The tall boy is on the road to recovery. I cannot thank you enough for all of your support, prayers, and good wishes -- please, keep 'em coming! And as a Catholic Christian, can I just say "thank you, thank you!" to anyone who so much as killed a chicken in her backyard on his behalf? I should post a sign: "ALL PRAYERS WELCOME HERE."
Now he has to regain his strength, wean himself from the Vicodin, follow up with his pulmonologist, and -- the scariest part -- make up all of the school work he has missed. He's plotting how best to milk his infirmity without actually missing out on anything fun. For example: making up ten days worth of Calculus homework -- entirely too taxing for his poor, poor lung. Going to play practice (he was cast in the lead in the fall play): good exercise for the lung -- all that projecting, you know.
And here's an exercise he hates, hate, hates. He has to blow on the doodad, or suck on the doodad, or something, until it measures 3500 whatevers on the little measuring cup thingie on the side. It's hard and a little emotionally stressful, since he feels he should be able to accomplish this easily -- and he can't. Remembering that he is seventeen years old, and that everything in his life thus far has come easily to him, my heart breaks just a little bit every time he struggles with this.
4. And my youngest urchin continues to shine her sunshiny smile on all of us. She is a free spirit like I only wish I could be -- and I hope that middle school doesn't suck the joy out of her. So far -- she is kicking middle school's ass!
1. So -- the oldest girl chose a Homecoming dress:
Although both on this blog and in person most adults voted for either dress #4 . . .. . . or dress # 6 . . .. . . she had her heart set on dress #3. In a completely surprising turn of events, her father did NOT have a coronary when he saw a picture of the dress. Instead, he merely commented, "she's not five years old any more, is she?" So -- dress #3 it is. Now, on to shoes and jewelry.2. In related news, the orthopedist who set her broken wrist thrilled the oldest girl when he informed her that her fresh fiberglass cast can be painted with acrylic paint. She is contemplating either silver, or black with a very tasteful dusting of glitter. So that will totally complete the Homecoming ensemble. [Terrible photo due to the whip-fast hands of the quasi-sexy doctor. Little crush here -- just being honest.]3. The tall boy is on the road to recovery. I cannot thank you enough for all of your support, prayers, and good wishes -- please, keep 'em coming! And as a Catholic Christian, can I just say "thank you, thank you!" to anyone who so much as killed a chicken in her backyard on his behalf? I should post a sign: "ALL PRAYERS WELCOME HERE."Now he has to regain his strength, wean himself from the Vicodin, follow up with his pulmonologist, and -- the scariest part -- make up all of the school work he has missed. He's plotting how best to milk his infirmity without actually missing out on anything fun. For example: making up ten days worth of Calculus homework -- entirely too taxing for his poor, poor lung. Going to play practice (he was cast in the lead in the fall play): good exercise for the lung -- all that projecting, you know.And here's an exercise he hates, hate, hates. He has to blow on the doodad, or suck on the doodad, or something, until it measures 3500 whatevers on the little measuring cup thingie on the side. It's hard and a little emotionally stressful, since he feels he should be able to accomplish this easily -- and he can't. Remembering that he is seventeen years old, and that everything in his life thus far has come easily to him, my heart breaks just a little bit every time he struggles with this.4. And my youngest urchin continues to shine her sunshiny smile on all of us. She is a free spirit like I only wish I could be -- and I hope that middle school doesn't suck the joy out of her. So far -- she is kicking middle school's ass!