Little Baby Chickadee is sleeping, which gives me time to post pics from Spring Break and Easter.  I’m working on posting more pictures to this here blog.  Here goes.

And, we did more on Spring Break than just go to Botanica.  But sweet Baby Chickadee deleted most of those pictures when I wasn’t looking.  I think she liked the slurping sound my phone made each time she clicked “delete.”  But I do have these:

Painting at Botanica.

Making friends with the instructor at Botanica.

Gathering clues at Botanica.

Though surrounded by nature, G did not let that affect his choice of subject; no, he drew Transformers.

The last one at Botanica. I promise.

Our unsuccessful geocaching attempt.

My family makes me happy.

• Why not start things off with my column from two weeks ago, wherein I discuss the competition between me and my daughter.
• And then follow up with my nearly-stopped-wavering on the More Kids issue.  Because I think there is this spectrum, with Individual Attention for Each Kid at one end and My Alone Time/My Alone Time With My Husband at the other.  With each additional child something has to give.  You’re either going to take time away from one of your existing kids or you’re going to take time away from you and your spouse.  For our family, I think we’ve just about hit the right spot on the spectrum.
• I never dug her bits about beauty creams or fashion at the end of each Lucky issue, but I really like her bits now in blog form.  Makes no sense to me, either.  Anyway, one of my new favorite blogs.
• Bet you didn’t think of all these as you raise your kids.  Especially #3, to which my husband is a testament.  That boy is not oogied out by germs.  One time he told me that as a kid when his grandparents would make him wash up for dinner he’d think, Why?  Because, as his youngest brother pointed out on a different occasion, he’s pretty sure he rolled down hills of cow-poo as a kid and had the best time.  Hubby’s grandparents knew their farm held germs, and said germs should be washed away before dinner.  But Hubby didn’t adhere to that kind of pesky germs-cause-problems hoolabaloo.  AND my husband never gets sick.  Which is only a bit of hyperbole.  Because really, he does not get the flu or colds.  Maybe he’s sick once every couple of years?  Anyway, long paragraph to say that #3 in the above-linked Cracked column rings true with my husband.
• Finally, read this.  Then put away your computer/iPad/iPhone and take Heidi’s challenge to write some handwritten notes.

In Saturday’s column I wrote about our ten year wedding anniversary because I am so proud of how far we’ve come.

And, like every year, I have to post this e.e. cummings’ poem. I love you, Mr. Fox.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

--e.e. cummings

Tonight while leaving Taco Tico a minivan barreled into the stall about three or four down from our truck and out rushed–and I mean RUSHED–oodles of kids.  At first it made me think of a clown car, like, how many skinny teenagers can you fit into one Kia Sedona?  Then I realized they were a youth group on a mission, and almost as quickly as I said “NO” to my husband in anticipation of the youths’ question, they cornered him.  The request came spilling out of one boy’s mouth, as if he thought that asking it really fast would make us say yes.  Or maybe he was just crunched for time.  Or both.   “Uh, sir?  We’re on a scavenger hunt and can we take a picture with your baby?”  Shannon looked at me with his half-grimaced mouth, tilted his head and half-nodded back at them before grunting, “Sure,” followed by a quick, “Who has the strongest arms?  WHO IS NOT GOING TO DROP MY BABY?”  He muffled the sternness with a small laugh, but I knew better.  Some tall kid took Daphne, she looked at him with her half-open mouth and surprised face, they took the picture, said a million thank-yous, scrunched themselves back into that minivan and drove away.

On the way home Hubby said that Daphne kept that look of surprise on her face most of the way home, still unable to figure out what had just happened and why her parents had let her be held by some skinny kid with curly hair (I think the curly-haired kid is the one who held her.  It’s all a blur, really.).

About thirty minutes later I was in the kitchen while Hubby and Daphne were in the living room when someone knocked on our front door.  I ignored it, but they knocked again.  Hubby answered the door to another team of skinny teenagers.  “Uh, sir?  Do you have a dog?  And can we take the dog on a walk?  We’re on a scavenger hunt.”

Hubby saw the gang of energized youth, heard the word dog, said “Yeah” and headed toward the back of the house to get Molly before he’d even finished asking.  Hubby and I looked at each other as he walked by, smirked and raised our eyebrows.  Daphne made it to the front door to find the cause of the commotion.  One of them pointed at her and looked to someone in the back of the group, “Look!  A baby!”  As in: too bad we didn’t stop at this house first because we could have marked two items off the list at one time!  A baby and a dog in the SAME PHOTO!

Hubby opened the back door for Molly and she RAN to the front door.  Somehow she knew the people on our porch were going to be sweet to her, cuz she promptly laid on her back and let them rub her tummy as someone else took the picture.  Then the youth were off!

And whoever won needs to give us a cut of the prize because we did two groups a solid tonight.  I’m also hoping Daphne accidentally ended up in the corner of the picture with Molly and that an observant kid got extra points for noticing.

“She is a great phone talker.  She could call me every day.  And I would answer.”

-Hubby, after his grandma very sweetly wished me a happy birthday then got off the phone without any small talk.

In Saturday’s column I mentioned that somewhere an easy solution exists to our morning troubles but right now the answer continues to allude [edit: elude me.  why did nobody yell at me over this?  sometimes you're allowed to call me out.] me.  For the past two school mornings I’ve let them watch the clock; they know what time breakfast needs to be over and what time we need to walk out the door.  Friday we were early to school but today they were late.  My husband is worried that they’ll get used to being late and it will no longer be an issue, but right now I don’t care.  I’m tackling one obstacle at a time and the current obstacle is trying not to gripe at my children while they’re griping at each other.  I just want everyone to be serene on the way out the door.  Shiny and happy would be extra nice.

Here’s Saturday’s column, where I tell you about my solution–that really can only happen once in a very rare while–to the morning frustrations: playing hooky.

#1: “I stayed until the kids were in bed before I left.  Actually, I PUT THE KIDS TO BED.  And how many times have they woken up since I left?  I thought so.” -Hubby, upon returning home Saturday night and me telling him about the previous blog post.

#2: “I’ve been thinking, and how many times do I go out?  Once a month, on a good month?  And you get to go to Bible study every Monday night.” -Hubby, upon returning home from work today.

TOUCHÉ, Hubby, touché.

Hubby is out with his friends, “out” meaning hanging at our friends’ house (sans wives, of course) to watch a new 3-D TV.  The boys get together at night, without spouses or children, and the girls get together during the day, without husbands but WITH children.  And when the boys go out at night without the kids, we still have the kids.  I’m not complaining because the husbands are good about letting us girls go out together at night, but we never do.  The last time was maybe February or March?  So basically never.  Again, I’m not stomping my foot and pouting “That’s not fair,” just saying maybe us girls should change it up sometimes. [edit: Of course, they are at Mr. Y's house while his kids are upstairs, but I'm betting MRS. Y is the one taking care of the kiddos as they wake up and need a drink of water.]

So I made chocolate mug cake, topped it with ice cream and walnuts, and watched “Harold and Maude.”  Now, that movie has been on our Netflix queue for quite a while, probably even before I went out with my girlfriends sans children (Which, now that I think about it, has been well over a year.  One of us keeps having a nursing baby that we have to bring along.), but I’ve never watched it.  I’ve always been too worried about the creepy factor.  Just how far would they push the romance of a young (college age?) boy and a 79-year-old woman?  There were some creepy parts, but I think for the most part it was a sweet movie.  In case you ever decide to watch it, let me know, and I’ll warn you about the parts you should skip through.

Now I’m googling pictures of Alexa Chung because I want to copy her wavy messy hair.  If you look at my most-used board on Pinterest you’ll see lots and lots of bobs, as in haircuts.  Bob haircuts.  And they all look pretty much the same.  I just want my haircut to not look like the hair of a 30-year-old mom who gave up, you know?  So I’ve been staring at people’s hair and trying to decide how to make mine match theirs.  Once, after our weekly date at the bakery (with kids, of course), I came home and cut swoopy bangs to look like Chrissa’s.  But my hair still doesn’t look like hers.  Hers is shinier and try as I might, I cannot get my double-processed, bleached hair to shine like hers.  I’d like to do the blunt bangs of Ellen Barkin or Scarlett Johansson or Katie Holmes, but that’s scary.  Jayme cut them on her long hair and I can’t wait to see them.  Anyway, Alexa Chung has blunt bangs, so I’ve been looking at the pictures that some people creepier than me have put on their blogs that are totally devoted to her.

Every time I hear Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up” I think of Estella from Great Expectations and I’m sad for her.  Then I want to read more Dickens.  Have you guys read Great Expectations yet?  Do.  It is such a wonderful book.  If you’re not laughing out loud in the first chapter then put it down, get yourself a cup of coffee and a clear head, then sit down and try it again.  If you’re still not laughing out loud in the first chapter then you’re reading it wrong.  That’s okay, because I did the first time, too.  But Dickens is so incredible at making you laugh while feeling the fear of a six-year-old boy all at once.  Then you grow up with Pip and love him and you love Joe and that whole world and then, 496 pages later it’s suddenly finished and you have to find another book that will be as satisfying to spend your time on.  Probably I should try Oliver Twist or A Christmas Carol but I fear it’s too late in the Christmas season for the latter and I don’t want to be sad with the previous.

Speaking of Joe Gargery, let’s name some of our favorite characters from literature.  Off the top of my head: Joe Gargery from Great Expectations, John Jarndyce from Bleak House (I’ve never read the book but did see the BBC Miniseries with the adorable Carey Mulligan, and I love John Jarndyce)(also, Bleak House is another Dickens novel, so of course I’d love it if I read it), and John Ames from Gilead.  Now, my favorites are stacked with characters from books I’ve just read, but I think it goes along with the fact that I refuse to read anything that’s not encouraging.  I want to have the love and forgiveness these characters have.  Also, I love the narrator in Sonny’s Blues.  Not that he’s as altruistic as the others, but that short story has been one of my favorites since I discovered short stories, so I should probably name him as a favorite character in literature.

Who is your favorite person from the Bible?  You are not allowed to say Jesus.  Mine is Peter because that man was a mess.  He was impulsive and lost his faith as quickly as he got it, spoke out of turn and was heartily reprimanded but still stayed close to Jesus, denied his Lord three times during his precious friend’s greatest need, and yet Jesus built His church upon him.  Through all his weakness he loved Jesus.  Really, really, really loved Him.  I can get behind that.  Paul is too sure of himself; that is nothing like me.  I think if we hung out he would look at me sideways and call me out on my stuff.  Daniel would be interesting.  He was a smarty and I admire his resolve.

[Another edit, for you guys who are up at 11:08 on a Saturday night and reading my blog as quickly as it posts: that guy from Cracked appears to have been totally right about the next Batman.  Behold.]

Okay, I’m going to wrap it up now.  I’m going to re-read Sonny’s Blues and continue listening to the “erin’s faves” playlist on our iTunes.  You guys have a good night.