Early this morning, we were off to the doctor for Ava’s five-year-old check up and the much dreaded shots. She shed not one tear, and was doubly awarded with four brightly colored bandaides and four trophy prizes.

Her doctor confirmed our suspicions that she is growing like a weed, more than ready for school and is very allergic to cats. The doctor wrote her notes on the screen of a tablet PC, which Ava declared as “magic.” A delight which was only surpassed by the promise of a medicine that could help her play with cats.

We had planned to run a few errands after the appointment, which now included acquiring magic cat potion, and make our weekly trip to the library. But it was too cold. Or as they like to say in Minnesota, we were not dressed for the weather. That’s right. It’s the end of May and somehow we thought we could wear sundresses, flip-flops, and light sweaters. How silly of us.

So we headed home for a few additional layers.

After adding leggings, a fleece, a scarf, and exchanging her flip-flops for some boots, she stopped on the stairway to make this useful observation.

“I look like a cowgirl today, don’t I Mama? Don’t you think these boots make me look like a cowgirl? Yep, I’m a cowgirl today.”

Yes, that was my first thought. I hear cows are particularly fond of sparkly hearts and shiny gold buttons.

You know I don’t think that this girl has ever seen a real live cowgirl and hardly a cow at that.  At her age I had been to more rodeos than tea parties, and every other person I knew owned a pair of battered wranglers and Justin boots. I remember when my Minneapolis cousins would come visit us in Montana, I would be mesmerized by their city words and city clothes.

Now look at me, I’m raising my very own city slicker. Those boots have hardly seen a speck of dust let alone an entire range.

After dazzling more than one librarian with her not-so-western ensemble, we returned home to snuggle and read through our bag of books. Thanks to our favorite pig, Olivia, Ava finally has the words to pair with this outfit:

“And of course, you can always accessorize!”

Last year I was amazed to find four candles on my baby’s cake. You can imagine my surprise when someone added another one.

This past year has blown by.

And with three birthday parties in one weekend, this one doesn’t show any signs of letting up.

Nor does she.

Look out five, here she comes!

Perhaps I’ll post more pictures when I’ve recovered from the shock. And the sugar high. And from seeing dots.

Perhaps.

First I’m going to look at this.

Ohh. Happy Birthday my little bird!

I think FIVE is your number!!

a shiny, silver basket…

It’s the perfect day for hanging some spring blooms on your neighbor’s doorknob!!

You need: Clean tin cans, floral foam, ribbon, and flowers!

Punch two holes on either side of the can

String the ribbon through each hole

and tie on knot on the outside of the can.

Cut the foam and put in in the can.

Fill each can with water.

Push in some spring flowers!

Attach a custom label.

We’re off to ring some doorbells.

Happy May Day!!

1979

(siblings)

2009

(cousins)

Hi.

Remember me?

It’s okay if you don’t. WordPress nearly didn’t.

It may of had something do with the fact that I forgot my password.

The trouble with long absences, other than technical difficulties,  is that it is hard to know where to start.

It’s kind of like when you forget to call someone back. When you remember, you feel guilty about forgetting and avoid calling that person. The longer you wait, the worse you feel and the more awkward it becomes. Of course, this has never happened to me.  Never.

First I considered a recap of the past two month, but dismissed this due to the sure volume of such an undertaking. Brevity has never been my gift and despite what you may think, I do have some consideration for your potential eye strain.

Then I thought I would share footage of the “biggest Easter Egg hunt ever!” Because, frankly, if I don’t post a picture of the child at this house soon, I may lose contact with my mother-in-law forever. Which would be tragic on many accounts, including the facts that I like her and the Parisian scarves she sends me.

HungryMan has my laptop and therefore all my pictures at work. Sorry Penny. Ava’s taking a spontaneous and self-prescribed nap. I don’t have any phone calls that I avoiding. So pictures or no, I have to grab this opportunity now.

So here we go.

Last week, my parents flew into town after a weekend in Florida. It happened to be my brother’s birthday, so we  planned to celebrate together before they drove back to Iowa. About an hour before the party, my mom called to invite Ava to drive home with them. We were planning to travel to their house on Friday, so they thought it would be a perfect opportunity for her to visit them by herself.

When HungryMan asked Ava if she would like to go, she tore off to her room in frenzy shouting, “I HAVE to start packing!”

“Ava, aren’t you going to miss us?”

“I’ll miss you very much…but i havetostartpacking RIGHT NOW!”

Needless to say Uncle Moose’s birthday dinner quickly transformed from a celebration to the most tiresome and cruel wait that Ava has ever endured. When a sugar-deprived four-year-old blows off a chance at birthday cake, you know there must be an urgent and pressing matter.

A matter of switching her booster from the Saab to the Zephyr. Also a matter of transferring all her lovies, snugglies, books, crafts, and blankets in what could only be described as a frightening fast-forward version of Trading Spaces.

Thus they began their four and a half hour journey of Alan Jackson hymns and Culver’s sign spotting. It’s a pity I couldn’t travel with them.

Now I have a strong aversion to fast food, which has lead to varying degrees of starvation on more than one road trip. I do, however, enjoy a Culver’s ButterBurger on occasion.

Plus, their kid’s meals come with tokens for free ice cream and actual prizes. Not prizes which are really trash carefully disguised as molded plastic. So while most American children clap their hands when they see the golden arches, mine cheers when she spots the big blue sign.

The next morning, Ava hopped into my dad’s truck and pointed to the steering wheel as he buckled her in.

“Papa, you got your truck from Culver’s. Didn’t you, Papa?”

“What?”

“It’s from Culver’s. Right? Look, it says Culver’s.”

He must of saved a lot of tokens for that prize.

For the past three weeks, HungryMan was working overtime. And by overtime, I mean twice the amount of time that he normally works. He walked out the door before we woke up and didn’t put his key into the door until Ava was sound asleep.

Let’s just say that my empathy for single parents has more than doubled. I knew it would be a tough three  weeks. I did not realize that I would crash each night after putting Ava to bed.

Before he started his crazy three weeks I made a list of all the little projects I could do during my free evenings (like publishing this post). Oh, I was clueless. By the time Ava’s breathing had settled to a steady purr, I was comatose on the couch. I could not even lift my mind’s eye to the pile of things gathering dust in my brain.

This new schedule also interrupted our Saturday morning routine of all snuggling together in bed. On the first Saturday the jamma-girl stumbled into our room to discover only one lump in the bed instead of two.

Disappointed, she went hunting for her missing daddy and found him already hard at work in his office.

“Sorry Ava,” He said as he gave her a hug. “Daddy has to work this weekend. I have to work everyday for the next fourteen days, and then we’re going to Florida and we’ll be together everyday. Okay, Ava?”

Ava stared at the pile of charts and graphs that seemed to have grown overnight on his desk. She nodded and sprinted to the other end of the house.

When I wandered into the kitchen later in search of my eye-opening orange juice, Ava was fully engrossed at her craft table. She had poured herself a plate of colored pensils, crayons, and glue. I cracked eggs as she cut paper. Before I could serve her up some food, she grabbed her project and dashed back to the office.

“Look Daddy, I made you fill-up’s.”

“Philips?”

“Yeah, I made you fill-ups. See they are fill-ups. Look.”

“Here you go, Daddy. Now you don’t have to works so much. Now you only have to work two days.”

I’m head over heels for this guy. Eleven Valentines later and he still makes me swoon.

Attending a wedding may be the perfect way to celebrate Valentine’s Day:

A squeeze when the bride enters, a message on love in marriage, a reminder of your vows, a glance during the kiss, a photo booth to entertain your child

and yourselves,

enough food to fill HungryMan, an amazing photographer who happens to be your old roommate, laughter, music, flowers, candles…

And then dancing. Oh the dancing.

I want to dance with this man for the rest of my life.

& cheer on Valentine’s day.

We’re dressed in our finest reds and pinks, and off to a Valentine’s Day wedding.

Hope your day is filled with love!!